The bridge to the faraway lands,
Lays between the shores of her kiss,
Her purple eyes portrait my letters,
Sensational fantasies that streams;
Within the bloods of my veins,
That even with your absence,
I touch your living presence,
Places that we've never been,
Others that never exists,
But in the depth of my minds,
And places that we've been,
They all miss you my princess,
And in the Gardens of paradise,
We buried you,
How can I describe your funeral?
If my alphabet failed me;
There was a crowed,
A journalist,
A poet,
Three birds,
The writer of histories,
And they all asked,
Me about you,
I remember
We played your harmonies,
And your Fragrances,
O'your fragrances,
Like a Jasmine flowers,
That never dies
With my hands,
O'with my own hands,
I'd tear my body apart,
Place you inside,
Seal it with golden chambers,
So we both be one,
All women seem the same,
Like all the letters;
On my typing machine,
That Produce meaningless poems,
And sentences,
I never understood,
I see your face on every glance,
A memory my fantasies would enhance,
For all the memories that we never had,
And the papers that we never wrote,
And the promises we never made,
Like the last time I saw you,
I killed you…..
And I thank God I did.