Because of you the smell of spring's aromes next to blossom gardens hurts me.
I have forgotten your face, I don't remember your hands, how did your lips kiss?
It is because of you I love the white statues that sleep in parks, the white voiceless, sightless statues.
I've forgotten your voice, your joyful voice, I've forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bonded to your vague memory. I'm close to pain as it is a wound, if you touch me you'll incurably harm me.
Your caress wraps me as bindweed does to dark walls.
I have forgotten your love and yet I sense your presence behind all windows.
Because of you the heavy scents of summer hurt me: it's for you that I lurk in search of signs that precipitate desires, in search of passing stars, of falling objects.
