A dead stone rose

All

offered

whispers

fades in

meaningless

gesticulations

Pieces

of

sickness and

lonlyness.

The cold

awake

from my body in

sweet and

dark

emptiness.

Phonemes

disintegrate.

The soft verses

of yours

eyes

they look

a stick face.

Eyes dumb.

Lame arms.

The

margin

concrete

peels

your ivory sun.

A

impaled

doll

wrote to you

those

machinations

of rhymes.