I Will When the sunset dilutes itself in the soothing earth of your eyes and the green falls to loam. When the dew like tiny constellations glistens in silken webs and sleeping spiders. When the last sorrows are forgotten among the black foliage of nameless melancholy- gray that feels pink. I will, but don't ask me until the time comes. I'll remember when fatigue quakes in the muscles of your mistakes of memory; don't rush the moonrise, don't question my will, it happens always when I will the wrong time right, and the passion fades from the planet's sight.