...Once I was dancing on a cliff, dressed in white with a white lily crown on my head, I was not so old, perharps ten or eleven, white and blue were my colours, the nuances of the Aegean Sea and those walls; a bit far away I preceived fireflies and syrens, the smell of spring-time and the white ancient taste of childhood, clementines and lemons are still resting in my remembrances. The moon gave me her chant while twisting in her April chair...

Time has passed, life has been spent, Autumn is what I am, a red deep dirge under a November moon, please flames write the hieroglyphics of instinct and pleasure on my skin and deep deep on my heart tissues, it's cold and it's November. Words have dried on my tongue, sunk wreckages are the only hold of instants till the core bit...