How I found my connection to Dali:

the persistence of memory

never ceases in haunting me.

My dreams all melt in absence

or nightmares they become.

I never was a swan. Never a swan.

I regret now, that I will never be Gala opposite

his brush.

(My windowless eyes are broken.)

There's nothing left of life

that doesn't belong to him.

I cannot escape the dreaming,

Melting into nightmares.

Why were you my surrealist?

Why was I your muse?