pathos
in the boobs of the night
gather dewdrops
instead of milk that nourishes
await the comforting
fingers of the sun
to bid farewell
evaporating
undrunken moisture
on someone's face
whose swollen tongue
is no good anymore
to lick anything
nor to distribute
any lust
on the shoulders without neck
meanders not anybody's head
nor mouth
nor eye
to roll away
to speak
to see
only thought wells
through the veins
that run not any flow
into the houses
without inhabitants
into the sarcophagi
without recollection
in the boobs of the night
gather dewdrops
instead of milk that nourishes
await the comforting
fingers of the sun
to bid farewell
evaporating
undrunken moisture
on someone's face
whose swollen tongue
is no good anymore
to lick anything
nor to distribute
any lust
on the shoulders without neck
meanders not anybody's head
nor mouth
nor eye
to roll away
to speak
to see
only thought wells
through the veins
that run not any flow
into the houses
without inhabitants
into the sarcophagi
without recollection