She came as she was
And he, as she wouldn't have imagined
Cracks of his artistic nature
Overwhelming every cell of his palm
The fragility of an inviting craziness
Captivating her instinct for drowning
His impetuous gaze
Shouting a child's malice
The absurdity of his coherence
Killing her of laughs

She read him silently, he was the book that turns off the light
of the room
And
The reader's, drenched in the revealed chapters

Torn between the doctrine of her sense of justice
And
The torment of smiles caged in 'if'

Oppressed by an unfamiliar circumstance
And
unpronounceable desires

Ripped between his disarming perfume
And
Her non-existent suicidal vocation