Sunday of poetry.
The usual friend Leonard and an unnamed poetess from a website, maybe Olive or Camilla, I don't remember. Hello
Well, Marianne, we have come to this moment in which we are so old that our bodies are decaying, and I think I will soon follow you. Know that I am so close to you that if you just try to stretch out your hand, you will be able to meet mine. And you know that I have always loved you for your beauty and your wisdom, but I don’t need to add anything else because you know all this. But now I just want to wish you a good journey. See you soon, old friend. With infinite love, I’ll see you at the end of the road.

So are the eyes of poets
light still at the bottom of the well
So are the voices of poets
whether they are velvet or rose petals on the tongue
poets kill you slowly
with fingers that scatter poisoned honey
So are the poets
who tread on time without remembering
So are the hearts of poets
that open, letting you glimpse treasures
If you were not,
what would become of me.