the petals of memories from you

at the foot of a hilltop,
surmounted by an obelisk
accessible only through a
stone spiral, the goal of a journey
crossing an ocher plain,
populated by shoals of dreams
inaccessible but rebellious,
hungry and thirsty for you ...

I look at the prophecy of a pack
of ladies and aces, crowns and swords,
that the builder of darkness
revealed in a vehement blow
through cracks in a metaphoric lineage,
verging on the prospect of loving you ...

on the swinging web of a lobby semi-enclosed
by cracks sealed by spheres of salt and
granite thorns, covered with a felt fabric,
I have only as ammunition
the petals of memories from you ...