Think on your death as nothing. Nothing happens. Nothing, nor after or before. Every clock will continue marching on and living things will feed the black abyss once and once again. What is the life after at all? Just a simple glimpse of the eyes of the nothing…,
…, your eyes, and the mine ones
A serpent rises from the waist, to bite the apple of your nape. I love that black rose of nothing as I love you in the sex, flimsy rose, always at the point of breaking its legs into pieces, after each shaken. I caress its stems meantime it shivers, it sighs and its cry is released in a rain of crimson petals.
Breath me, aspire my soul on each kiss. Whisper me fantasies with the caresses of your tongue, put them deep inside me, drop by drop. Breath me, my love, because I’m nothing and what i write is just a devalued copy of what I draw, on to you, within you, in silence, without you notice it my altar, my canvas, my marble piece of infinite faces and names that every night and day after day, are reinvented.
I am the empty space that involves your thighs and divides your buttocks. Even when you invites me to penetrate into that land of lust, even there, at the sight of every body, I am just a breath on your mouth, a cloud, a spirit that lies all over your body; both transformed into a couple of dirty shades, strewn on the streets.
At last, you and me as everything, are nothing.