Tell me your hour When to meet, by a frozen stream, That I may lick the tears That have become as often as the night Is to you, beyond the realization of the sun That could warm you, Beyond the you That does not want to smile. I love Without sickness to my words, For

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I seem to have a glimpse To what cannot be missed Of her, by the ashes Of one previous decaying world Her fingers have brought upon To cease splendor, into hollowness. Like the moon with its craters, Like the sun with its core, Where coldness descends into burning lust, As life leaves its place, to

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