Garden of Stones

The aftertaste of your late dreams

is insane. I come, wrapped in

a dress from the brightest stars,

cuddle up to your sweet fear.

 

I believe in your newborn indifference.

I don't need greedy silence

from you. All I want is a little sadness

to scare the smooth, tangled shadows.

 

He will chase away prayers

spoken by someone else's lips.

I am delighted with the future

that will invite light to our garden of stones.