Those late dinners with their ineffable tease
The last novel before leaving the ruins pale gold as green tea
Walking down the dizzy stairs
Passing through the first rain of the season
Leaving his vertigo for the labyrinth:
“The melancholy patterns of the attractive skinny tie.”
The phone call that we missed in the humid summer afternoon
A typo on the airplane ticket
Some artists sell the souvenir. Some opportunities come back and forth.
A solid maroon red tinged with almost transparent blue.
Those dresses and secrets hidden in a timebox. And the whispers.
“You are my muddiest whisper”



In the Mood for Love (Wong Kar-Wai, 2000)