when silence was a glib sentence and the void was the high numeral, i started wanting you

come and break me again
like for stoic sands
suffers the tide.

shatter me as a garden,
of brittle soil and forgotten
from godly minds.

spare me but a sentence
in nagging silence,
to my exile.

is it not my night yet,
my lady death,
to earn a smile?

how much distance
this courtship, by chance,
has to go?

2006.nov.24