My pain Is naught. Your pain Is bought From the galleries where color is adorned At the Spaniard Puetra del Sol, Run as red on ivory As a blushing girl, roaming through destiny. You field the flowers, As their scents tempt you. Kiss their great numbers, That I cannot haunt you. I want to love, while the buildings wilt After the day they were built. Though, to my excuse, my shame It is all to cloud my pain. Loosen your locks To follow your own way home. My heart, alike stone Stained with the moss, bled from loss In its own forest of travesty Where breaths are mere weeping sighs. Just a droplet, squeezed from a crevice In this woven ruby orb Is enough to last for my remembrance, As destinies are built, while love wilts.