I write to you from here, from the edge of my thoughts,
they kidnapped the moon and between my fingers
remains the taste of memories.
I don\'t know where you are nor if your star is still as sad
as when I met you; I don\'t know whether your clear eyes
are still dark because of pain or for fear that pain
might be unchanging, eternal.
I hope not. It\'s true: I didn\'t take leave sweetly from you,
my honey had gone black and bitter when you chose to leave me
like a cold tombstone in the rain, but no, I don\'t hate you
anymore: I want life to think twice before piercing you
and I want your time to expand into years of ambrosia.
As for me, I\'m here. If you should feel the taste of memories,
you\'ll be welcome: I\'ll be ready with a heart (patched, but alive)
and a new silver moon.