In the nails with which you crucified me,
I no longer hang a thing Alone
It would be better, if you had changed into the bronze mirror
That encloses my blurred reflection in a unique compatibility
I do not leave you alone by the scent of my opportune passage,
Which would come to you Lonely, in life's conceded death!
The brilliant and fused foresight in which I had you
You're delaying your appearance
So I suspect you've forgotten the thousand ways
By which you would burn to me
You're late
Static night-light of tormented plasma that steals your pulse
Inviting, the frozen eyelids burn Dark