Death and all her flowers

I remember when

my fingers lingered in the wind.

Grasping fingers

just because they were used

to (these darn habits,

so useless). Walking down the street,

getting the hang of talking

and knowing each other.

What else might we find there in the green lush of

a dream? This street seems to me

as an inviting game.

Get to know me, find me and fulfill me.

But not fulfill me, just be there.

Be my friend,

perhaps,

a childhood sweetheart, an innocent

lover of old.

Walking,

get used to walking, find treasures buried

beneath the dark and white asphalt

of roads still not taken.

Take my hand and let it go. Take my fingers

as a proof of sweetest

love. Why, oh, why

did this happen to me. Death followed me,

flowers in Her hand. Death, you so silly.

Hold her hand, her fingers, ride worms till 

it is time to go.

Bye, love.