The Night Sleeps With a Rope

Angel…

your body once entered this room

like a thin line of light

slipping through a half-opened window.

The air froze.

The snow locked its doors.

Even the curtain hid its own longing,

like a bullet waiting in a quiet gun.

I sat there,

eyes resting on the shape of desire,

searching for warmth

with a shivering, unfinished heart.

Your necklace’s scent,

the curve of your wrist,

the water drops on your lips—

they return to me

like an old, soft wound

still breathing beneath the skin.

The cold night sleeps beside me,

tight as a rope around the neck,

killing the tender feeling

that took birth inside my faint chest.

It sobs.

I sob with it.

The mirror begins to breathe,

cooling my eyes with a secret—

a way to lay my desire on the bed

gently,

like a mother feeding milk

to a trembling child.

And in this dark,

I lose my breath.

My heart becomes a flickering flame,

alive and dying at the same time.

My love returns to silence—

a memory

that no one will ever hear again.