I'm on the edge of myself,
where skin is not enough
and desire spreads
like a nameless flame.

On your body - a mirror of absence -
I search for myself:
a burning instant
between now and nevermore.

The flesh longs for verb,
but all is silence
when I touch you with my soul.

I am a lit shadow,
I am a blind word,
wanting you
where you no longer are.

And in the dark of the room
the fire lights up:
your scent -
embers of what we were,
embers of what still burns
even if it's already ash.

Love?
Or just memory in combustion?

But I return,
I always return,
like time that insists
on passing
close to the fire.