For many years I have passed through these alleyes.
For liquor shops, for ambient amusements, for you, for me,
for lilies damped on the pavements.
Let those alleyes be yours and those wandering through them mine.
There’s blizzards on your eyes, there’s seamless water bodies on your chest…
You don’t need lovers; you don’t need a word-maker;
you need a murderer with hanging eyes and merry-go-round arms,
and I would never call you mine unless you are murdered on an aeroplane when you still have the chance to fly under the clouds one more time.
Though; who am I to talk about clueless deaths,
I am walking and singing and jingling on a street where there’s crowd and flowers and girls holding the alcohols,
I just hope to never meet you, and never loose a walk for a poem again.