"Secret language" [poetry]

in the reflection of in a game of light and shadow,

in the face of the water of the crystalline river,

or in front of a silver mirror.

The language is a wall carved of indecipherable symbols.

Secrets lie marked on it;

what is said in one way and not another.

There is a secret language

constituted by various points of absence,

where your "I love you"

are a path of doubtful and intriguing cobwebs,

and every contempt of yours is a celestial glow within the wells of your eyes.

Your love, secret language that only exists within letters,

drowned in shady feelings like the ink that writes them.

Do not say "I loved you" as if scratching the fabric of the past,

I am not a specter that must inhabit the spaces of your memory

once the sand of the clock has run out

and can not be given a new round.

Love me then while the sand falls

and time passes in the present,

without ever evoking the past

like a crackling memory of what could have been.

In a single moment then, as fleeting as a match,

let's have the heat and the strength so that our secret language

can burn all the way between the cobwebs and us.