Monday, October 23, 2006


Soon I’ll be in my garden of roses.
Soon. I am waiting…
Roses full of thorns.
Fake scents. Better than real ones.
The original is vulgar.
Because of its past.
It was only a try, an attempt.
The illusion is not the real thing.
The copy is perfect.
The copy is perfect…
As I see. As I smell it.
Again in my garden tonight.
Again roses.
Even if there’s only one…
A beautiful day.
No more sleeping without you.
No more sleeping anyway.
All of you, my roses.
I’m almost there.

We’re just a part of things that go on.

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