Like light red balloons dying in a fiery sky
those tender words woven out of air are.
Once they meant time and almost perfection.
Now they are dreamy planets, comets so far.

Consonants and vowels warmed delicate hands
carving words from intransitive verbs of desire.
Semantics of life written with body and ecstasy
rekindled so swiftly the sweetest fizzy fire.

As the eyes of time killed that sublime story
without mercy, the white flowers got afraid.
They froze, they cried, they saw the defeat
of that naked heart in a silent masquerade.

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