It wasn’t
Any surprise
To find out
That the commonest
Words
Of my repertoire
They included the phonemes
Of your archangelic name: Priscilla,
Because in that time
There was a tangle
Of illusions
That they overflowed
As shower
Of meteors
Coming from the tip
Of your hair
As from a comet,
And I wanted,
Ending this October,
To pick up
Your rain of stars
In the lonely ones
Plains
Of my chest,
In the remote
Opened fields
Of my plexus,
However
The short ones
Wisps
Of encouragement
With which I tied myself
To the illusions
In my life
They only allow me
To murmur
The syllables
Of your name,
And you already see
Today that again
The Orionids
Are going by the doors
Of my house
I don't have you to my side
And it has happened
The past.
And just remains to me
This present
Without future.
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