I would have loved you,

not in this

bourgeois tavern

they call world.

No.

 

I would have

drowned you in my regrets,

to paint glances,

visions and torments.

 

Thusly I want you and stop

and wander

in the clamor all around.

 

Then, back.

You are all the women

of my solemn days,

when the captive silence

echoes sleepless hours,

whispering

 

You are love and fear,

the scream of the wind,

the ancient

expanse of

the snow.

 

01-12-2011