In the beginning
there was an outbreak.
Everything is stained
now with time.
Past is an old and flat
photograph ― blotted.
Let me sail into your image,
spinning backwards
around this bygone word.
Our hearts and hues
are dispersed heedlessly
across an extinct future.
Self is just another
tale.
Tonight,
with what do I wipe off
this speckled universe?
― inerasable.
