I write to you. Like fire without ashes. I die by your mouth. And the house falls because of my sadness. For your life is home. Love is made for your life. For the clarity of your hands like a triumph. In your hands my memories grow. And the stay of hugs. They go ahead like fertile bellies. Like ships through their mouths. Like fresh tree sap. Slow sap like the flight of butterflies. Slow as the gaze. Like the mist that floats. Inside the body, it floats. Between cries of love that nobody hears.