And the pain. And the kisses. And the pain. Your shores. They are late. To the hits of the sun. To your precision. Scapegoat. At the right time. Time is poured. There was still no describing the pain. Its collapse. Inside the mirrors. The room was getting smaller. The blankets screamed. Not even the high night sky. Daily. Sometimes dressed in black. Rain couple. Whose hands. Whose hands. Face of the rain. Hostage to the humidity of the sky. Hostage of sadness.

Sense, then ex-isto as a hypo/thesis.