Poetry

Candle by candle 
you burn your dreams 
unflaying the blue veins. 
That makes you still beautiful 
hanging in sky. 
 
On the dead land your feet 
will not touch the pond. Stumbling 
I bring botanica to cover 
your innocent faults 
for telling the truth. 
 
That makes me feel guilty. 
I pretend to be not what I am. 
This is the time when I start 
hitting the road, missing the 
scandalous moon who will - 
 
kiss me hard when I was alone. 
Just a fleeting pain. I ask you 
to become a tree, so that I 
can sit under your shade 
and write a poem.