“I will do that, open your doors and cry your maddening name,

Like in the days when I longed for you from a cliff drowning in the sea

You know I do, you know I do…”

What saint am I to have had you? What saint’s mind is this to cradle you still?

You sit on the edge of my bed and watch me fall into the ancient times retold in whispers

I am your legacy but I crave for my living past,

For the memories, not your hands

For the beaches, not your heat

For those words, not your look

You know I do, you know I do…

For that alone I stand up to any God.

 

M.

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