I haven't seen clouds lately, i wonder what must
be wrong. But not knowing where to go to sit

face to face with the sun, even if i am all alone
in Heaven with a wish to give a kiss to Hell; like

a couple of angels ready to listen to what i want
to talk about. So i just use the grass as a pillow

and dream about no more tears or sighs, or
no time when i am too sad to see your soul.

Maybe the trees change their colors more than
my thoughts. Maybe because they get their clothes

wet, and, my dear, i am used to sleeping there.
Passing out because i get so drunk i am unable

to be near God. I am thinking you do not cry
cause precious life is coming to an end. The mirror

i own i have held in my hands, and i have let it fly
away as now i am my own bird and for me,

getting wet is where my mother might say. She
is suffering seriously from drinking a cup of my tears.

Because she just might know I am as close to you,
as i was when i was inside her; intermittenly dripping