I have seen your blood soaked infinity, 

slipping out of the vagina of my soul. 

Embryonic, adolescent and gradually fading away towards the greatest unknowns. 

For me it has always been difficult to hold your last breath inside my womb,

and smoke you away on your funeral. 

I could never deliver something immortal for you. 

Perhaps being immortal has never been your destined eulogy. 

A great play artist just delivering the words from a secret peephole to the every explosions of stars,

 or the stars within. 

Yeah, an acute harbinger you are. 

And perhaps I would learn one day how to kiss you away rather than just a lowlife smoky goodbye.