I read poetry, and it isn’t about anyone anymore (I mean you, but) it’s all so bizarre, like a new tongue and palate (like forgetting you for the last time, like)

that time someone mentioned my name and I learned how to modulate

And now I no longer dream about you, it’s more (white landscape, walks, no one and me and you), are the air (I believe) you are the snow (It seems to me), you are the leaves (I doubt it)

I don’t know, there is no poetry that could encapsulate you and at midnight (sunrise), with tired eyes (defeated) I think I want to see you and remember you. As you were

(yesterday) and today, but (but)

I don’t know where to see you

(I don’t know in which poet I could find you)

I don’t know in which corner to look for you

(Everything is a blur)

And tomorrow you were a certain bet (yesterday you are a constant doubt) and today you are just a second thought.

And I’m not mad (I’m not happy) I’m not bitter (I’m in doubt) if ever (at any moment) I'll have created a poem (where another me) could remember you.

TA.