And 1 noon, you stood in my bookstore,
In the corner on the second floor
The second-left loose plank creaked,
As you smiled with ocean eyes and rosy cheeks,
Coloured from cold winter air and
Framed by your messy golden hair.
The church clock stroke 1 – a lash into my eyes,
Like reflections on closed window skies,
Outside hissed blue frozen winds
And with them you and all my sins.