How could I escape you? – you whose breath is to my skin what water is to life.
~
The fires of hell
into your cup I’ll pour,
with the waters of heaven
wash your naked soul.
~
With the thirst of a desert that hasn’t seen a drop of rain in a hundred years I ache for you.
~
Between your soul and mine
poetry, in an eternal migration,
ripples the whole sky.
~
I am a poet whose feather drinks from his own blood, goes on scribbling, but all it manages to paint is your face in the sky.
Rooted in Love 