Pleasure of dying in deplete as Me


Me begins to speak
wearing another face of transience

The words are of moment;  
violence that subsequent to words, love, and calmness 

Then the Wisdom swings 
little as bird out of the sense of incomprehensiblness  
and must not be understood's

Me notes off its present as a wind, 
that's being touched by its feathers 

Which is; 
Killing of words is comfortable to feathers, 

Another wet kiss of you just started to rain heavily,  
leaves the pleasure of being wordless on the great river

blood of my killed sparrow words, 
mingled into the great river as an aroma 
as an end

all the colours, meant to be painted my new portrait 
were spread
In the secret tiny fingers of this midnight.

Until depleted and died in complete, 
who hugged me tightly was you,

the night wrapped with cold, dark and the love