to no one

tired as the winds from Cape Verde over Fogo
trying time and again to blow it down
tired of the silence that even in cemiteries
is louder than in my house
weary of your forgotten voice
that lays together with Adrian, the Emperor
together in me
in my little soul
who will never see the light
again
one day
like all others
like his
oh no
i'm just tired of wondering if love letters
are still love letters when not read
by you
tired as the sands are tired
of shrieking
in Guincho