when there are no pictures to sift through and the dusty old memories are all you`ve got, you let the chords of a guitar vibrate an imagine behind closed eyelids. voices in the song become smooth echoes of long nights with singing and poems and laughter and feeling. memory lane is long and dark and the farther a door is, the faded the image becomes.
i miss you, mister. silence has no more rhythm, notes have scattered on the floor, measures are stuck.
my body is wrapped in a blank musical scale. i sometimes wonder if you could paint back the melody. do you still whistle the tune?
{February 13, 2016}
once
{February 12, 2016}
little poem
It`s getting dark in this little heart of mine.
The sun is drowning in a glass of wine.
The stars are little sparks of light.
It`s getting dark; just hold me tight.
{February 12, 2016}
cinnamon and a dark night
Ne pictam trupurile in tacere. E frig. Noaptea e inalta. Nu mai atingem stelele cu varfurile genelor.
Nadirul se scufunda lenes in golul claviculelor. Zenitul se pierde in zare, alunecand matasos spre finalul timpului
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