watching a full moon howling over

victorian houses, my lips were burnt with 

a sadness for europe. a hunger for 

small instincts of beauty awakened in me, 

past the age of photography. 

i walk along old memories, my form of 

time travel, until the mediterranean appeared

and upon it three stars lit like fireworks!

everything in it, a drop of loveliness:

the tremble (treble?) of your eyelashes, 

time like an old church, things always happening

and unhappening to us. 

o we were just the negatives of dreams, 

black and white.