Our history,
flash in recall,
almost chimera like,
must be slowed,
must be captured,
frozen.
Words, my dear...
your words;
my memory of your mouth,
your wet eyes and
your hot words
must be written down.
I will never forget, as long as I live,
our history.
Our book is the heart...
consumed in fire
and shared.
We will turn
into light,
into ash,
then to air.