For love is just a stranger

For love is just a stranger.
    And I tie my emptiness
around you like a skin, my own darkness,
    all that is beating and heavy.
Winter comes and gazes like Valentino,
    feeling softly with his paw
like the lion of the public an Rousseau.
And from here, from the land of shadows,
    from the land of snowy shadow I cry for you,
        not like for God
            but like for my one and only
                my sole life,
    this body, a thicket of bones that hides
         in its dusk slumbering opaque organs,
              a heart like a struggling rose.
And look: when the rose has sprung back
               it has sprung back
        and the red cardinal colour
            has dropped its petals.
    Winter has come
and night fallen.

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