Poetry

I hear again your voice
after injury pause.
 
An apologia.
It is still kempt,
the mist scented, milk bath
by moon, in dark.
 
In legendary night, everything was legitimate.
The licit kiss of death too.
 
One by one the faces
were missing. The snake bites,
of love.
 
The embroidered memories are
hanged to dry up in rain.
 
The eyes like moths, flicker around
the dark candle of another childhood.