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Masochist heart.
I do not fathom songs of romance, where each lover
Feels the same as the other.
Love, is dark.
If it is true.
It is burdened with fear
My love, he is not of heaven.
He temps me the same way as the devil.
Long looks, and words that keep
My masochist heart
breaking at his feet.
To love true, is to look at the world
From a strange and unsettling point of view.
I wonder what moments before my death
Would be like
Gasping for air
Would I see your face
