I’m leaning against the clear pane, feeling the water pouring on my back, an idea passes through my mind like a starlight.
Sitting on the floor, with a blanket on my shoulders and lively letters, I’m writing poetry.
Senseless words fall on the paper and they’re carried along by the music which is born from your vocal cords.
The sound of your lips, the colour of your hair, the heat of your hand, your mind…
You’re a perfect shadow that vanishes when I try to reach you.
And my fingers run after you, among the night lights.