He came as he was And she, as he wouldn't have imagined Cracks of her artistic nature Overwhelming every cell of her palm The fragility of an inviting craziness Captivating his instinct for drowning her impetuous gaze Shouting a child's malice The absurdity of her coherence Killing him of laughs
He read her silently, she 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 his sense of justice And The torment of smiles caged in 'if'
Oppressed by an unfamiliar circumstance And unpronounceable desires
Ripped between her disarming perfume And His non-existent suicidal vocation