I need to ask you
Why a heart has got a dark room,
A room dedicated to the rise
Of unborn memories.

You yourself are
An unborn memory
As fragile as a thread of light
Slipping under the door threshold.

Before building up your portrait
I should develop
The memory of your words,
Then draw your portrait in pencil
With the scent
That your word letters leave behind
On a sheet of paper
While falling in love.