Damn lips

My hand in the middle between the glow of the moon and the darkness

And my breathing stopped in the heartbeat before midnight.

It is at that moment that my lips move fast and in a tormented word and with blood on the edges.

The reflection of my eyes in the window with the light of other people's rooms and the clockwise needle moves for ten minutes past the beginning of today.

And even the name of torture in the dark, with the form of the nightmare of a lost love, even that word, is on my stopped lips and soaked in salty and sweet tears.

T.M.