Her eyes carry the voice of the blue moon
as she walks silently among the cherry trees,
lost in clouds of white powder and illusion,
drowning peacefully in songs and sweet tea.

Hiding her desire in poems, the perfumed doll
dances her life away entertaining his soul and eyes.
She loves lavishing him on the deliciousness of life.
Performing, she doesn’t see when her heart dies.

She still smiles when he is invisible for her flowers.
Deep inside she knows she will never ride the sun.
He is a mystery buried in nights of glory and pain,
He is the thread she wove and that can’t be undone.

She is a geiko veiled by soft make up and her own past.
He is a ninja, so skilled in the art of unorthodox war.
He is her stigmata, the bleeding wound that shall last,
The one she learnt whole-heartedly to love and adore.

What answers shall fate bring for those who cry
alone in secrecy as the wane moon sews the stars?
What can she expect from the earth, from the sky
If the man she loves, leaves her so many deep scars?

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