Next to her, so close that our skins would almost reach.
Pouring rain. Flows of red wine like after a volcanic eruption.
Roads left behind for Her, but would she ever love me?

My ink in the conditional tense. Timeless nights.
I want to travel to the North,
Where the sun would not dare to catch me.

Next to the fire, so close that I would burn my skin.
Blue smell of rain. Bitter aftertaste.

I would like to walk again on the side of the road,
Waiting for someone to stop
Put his arm through the window and signal me to get in
Once next to him, let him make me feel the deserted feelings again,
Those almost erased with time and age a little.
As if fossilised.