Dressed to assassinate,
not having much hope.
Were you really―
serious for me?
Like en face
a star giggles, between
quivering small moons.
The night is drunk. You
hear a long hoot, from
enfant terrible, to scare away
the kiss of inevitable.
What a bliss to live
in the black heart of the moment,
when the sun unwraps
the flame.
Complete annihilation
of million desires. You
become the walking death
of unknown.