walk into the stormy clouds of your mind,
lick the questions of whether you love me or not.
I wanna grow down the trees of wisdom,
the revolving wisdom of your smile.
I wanna seek runnin’ dogs all over nobody’s land.
I wanna lit the room of yours with a candle made from ice
unveiling the blue shape of some damn past green days.
I need to count the details of your hair to become human,
and so, stop acting my role of time prayer.
Come to me, my little
talk your language from the fourth moon
show anything I could possibly crave
and make me crave your hills and mountains
Your stones and fountains.