Time does not leave here anymore. What I have now is the fact of beeing wait like the days that pass. Never more maters the hands. If I knew wich kind of tales, forgoten tales should I tell to You. Sailors songs listen by far, when I leave the wharf, at the Inner harbour. A fragile sun falls above lovers lips, distant passions kept inside my secrets-box, like kisses during the moonlight. I keep my body erosion, my dry mouth, a transparency stare, broken.
Lost, I live here, remembering that the future existed, once, at the Sailors Alley.
Koi Hui Sio
Macau, January 2002
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