In Your Mirror

The kisses you leave

on my cold empty skin

are mint.

The sky at our feet

is raspberry,

the senses do not want to lose

a single moment of silver.

 

I hang high,

above God's head,

from where I have a perfect view

of lost cities, wasted consciences

and frightened hands.

 

Until you feed me

with the first spring rain,

until the summer breeze mingles

with tears, we will remain faithful

to our delusions,

hallucinations of childhood.

 

I don't want to die against my sanity.

I don't want to be born

because I'm afraid of

my first thought.

 

Tangled up in porcelain clouds,

immersed in fractions of a second,

I want to see myself

in your mirror.