It returns to haunt, br the dilemma, of disowning br the old version of truth; br when I was searching the parallelism br for the sake of otherness. br br The unreturning melancholia, br brings the surreal intruder, br I did not want to entertain. br br The insane activity of heart br wants a sin uncommitted. br br The flirt eyes like a tulip br between your fingers, br unrolling the tender petals. br br Night throws the salt on the moon. br br There were no tears.