I went to the ocean,
and the waves whispered your name
like a scene from one of your books,
like a player's claim.

They say the sea belongs to poets,
but the sand hurts my feet,
and the sound makes me drift back to you.

I apologize to my future self:
the pain I carry will mature in his heart,
bearing my love for you and my goodbye.

We will never see the children of our love.
They will never have your eyes and my doom.
They will never laugh with your smile and my gloom.

This is my last lament
a wall of verses in my lover’s scent,
poetry for the vanity of our love,
one last song, one last painting, one last poem in your name.