The day wears me out,
when I don't think
of you, and a poem was not written.

A quasi-sin to forget,
connecting with past to find
the solution of gated exits.

Soon you will enter,
the mythological world
and I would feel a grim threat.

I filtered light plays
a game with me, like a sword
of moon slicing the darkness to
spit out the stars.

The terror holds
you tightly, will not let you go
back to drown your baby thoughts.

And when the explosion
takes place, only the muse will survive
to tell the tale of unique love.