In that moment, I could not write anything about flowers because I myself had turned into a flower, I myself had a stem and a lymph.

As for me, I used to be a bird with a gentle white womb, someone cut my throat just for laughs, I don’t know. As for me, I used to be a great albatross and whirled over the seas. Someone put an end to my journey, without any charity in the tone of it. But even stretched out on the ground I sing for you now my songs of love.

I used to hold a fiery wind and I tried to determine the direction where poetry would fly.

We are hungry for tenderness, in a world where everything abounds we are poor of this feeling which is like a caress for our heart we need these small gestures that make us feel good Tenderness is a disinterested and generous love, that does not ask anything else to be understood and appreciated.

I don't like Paradise, as they probably don't have obsessions there.