If there was a time when he would want to see her
again, it would certainly be then.
When both youth and flesh would have fallen away.
When there would be no time left for desire.
When only one thing would remain to be done
once that meeting was over: to separate. To part from
their own bodies, and thus to part forever.
“What shall I say about poetry? What shall I say about those clouds or about the sky? Look; look at them; look at it! And nothing more. Don’t you understand that a poet can’t say anything about poetry? Leave that to the critics and professors. For neither you, nor I, nor any poet knows what poetry is.”
Federico Garcia Lorca