Pull the plug of the stereo,
Let's listen to the absence
of the music
on some quiet bench
on the forgotten streets of Borneo,
Going round our brains
and taking place
as bleeding symposiums
into our breathings,
Sweet waves gluing our lips
back together,
recomposing the kiss back again
and the flight into the softness
of the loneliest feather,
Just our two hands wearing crowns
touching the riffs
sang by the cords of the heavens,
with their fingertips as ears
and the nails as kettledrums
onto the kindred of ravens.