I knew everything had come to an end
when I saw you moving the spoon
slowly, as if that evening
would stop the pulsating of the blood
in the darkness of that gray café.

I didn't know what to say to you, we talked like
it had been yesterday, so recent still,
the last time you and I talked,
the last time we pillaged
the soul and the chest.

So I told you about my victories,
about my latest verses, about myself,
and almost without even looking at you, I looked at your coffee,
which you stirred with great interest,
as if your destiny depended on it.

You didn't say anything. You just smiled.
Thinking on a date, a new love
that awaited that same evening.
And in the middle of that silence, some sentence,
shrapnel from old bombings.

I took you home. We brushed
each other's faces knowing already that nothing
would justify any more phone calls,
that our heart stopped that evening
being of concern for doctors and lovers.