</>Since I couldn't embrace you,
I came to you across the barrenness
of your virgin words
holding your smiles against my heart,
like wisps of withered flowers.
We shared the silence, as echoes do,
each having a share of colourless sighs,
deprived of the terror and the light,
casting glances to the windows,
where all is left.
You then became touch and sentiment,
and there was a tiny talk between
your twigs and mine, inaudible and childish,
as gentle and complex as it's always been.

(9 June 1990)