A FLOWER ON THE HAND OF A WOMAN
Every time a man dies, a flower blooms on the hand of a woman. Your absence always comes with his head down, vague as usual through the rooms, before asking for dinner and coffee; It ensures that small are in me, and forgiveness behind my ears; then it appears on the balcony, and hunt the angels who are huddled behind the windows. Each time, raises the ceiling of a few centimeters, and does nothing. Did I say that is his head down? Maybe I exaggerated a little, your absence is not, it is here. Your body has been consumed by women. My body was consumed by rust.