Nothing but words

What will I  leave after my last journey but words ?

Little apple ,you who were so plump ,

have I left on your pulp ,only a bitter juicy bite ?

 I caught the next cloud,  leaving you 

this wet parting  world ...

And you serious Sybil ,that I have worshipped

and honored like a vestal  ?

I also left some alphabets  on the melancholy

that your fingers let run on the piano of our lives...

What will I leave behind, after this long voyage

of such  a short  passage ?

The memory of my poems will  fade ,

and the voice of a young  soul 

just hatched from a spring morning ...

I don't believe in these  oaths 

that are confused with eternity...

Elisa,you who  prefered Gershwin to Mozart,

I was sending you letters from an american to Paris,

glinding over the orchestra of a lost transatlantic...

I desired you all in the form of declinsions

dancing in my hands ...

All those words were just poisonous flowers 

dipped in a feather of arsenic ...

 But they've made you  so happy...