Pretty words fall from

your lips like snowflakes

from a gray sky. They

crystallize and shine

like jewels, like little stars with a cold

warmth, distant and fierce.

They lie prettily

against my flushed skin;

they adorn my eye-

lashes, they grace my cheeks, they slip through my

lips. They do not last.

Your words disappear

in the wind; they melt

and glisten in my hair.

They leave me cooled.

Words never last, it

seems, althought they will

continue for an

eternity. In

truth, your words always

fail me. It is the

warmth of your hand in

mine that remains


[Astana, Kazakhstan, December 2008]


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