You break me like a twig.

You leave me without a word, without considering how i feel

but

i still have my cloak to hug me.

Here, the snow never melts, the gardens never blooms

except once

when i glimpsed your face in the early morning hours.

Just once, when your fingertips played

on my skin,

Every word that smiled

mysteriously on your lips

of promises i'd never know.

i have made them into a fireplace,

my sanctuary,

my little tree house in the woods

from where i shall not flinch to go and walk with my solitude.

Grieving is not new to me,

i've learnt to grieve even before i learnt to say my first word.

No matter what i touch or whom i cling to, there was always the shadows of melancholy next to it.

If you dare kiss me, i warn you,

my kisses are bitter sweet.

sweet, like poems,

bitter like pain.

they are the pain poems i could print on your lips.

Their sweetness

will etch upon your soul

with all their yearnings.

If you kiss me,

i warn you, you 'll never be able to leave me

you will have to come again

for the cinamon

for the cloves,

and for the strawberries

grown carefully
 in my soul.

As for the

the pain in the ink,

it spreads
like the misfortuned branches of the willow that weeps in spring.

Here, where the snow never melts,
the gardens never blooms,

except,

when the moon comes to talk to it, but it still weeps.

i write

as if nothing hurts me

that's the easiest part!

but, the truth is -- your silence murders me.