Desamor, Sin categoría

For non-violence

Somebody strange
In my bed,
With desperate rage.
Much to be desired,
Even when,
With a smile
Of wild sidewalk,
And, with desperate turns,
Hold my hands;
My hands
With my cigarette,
Hearly finished,
With its present fire,
Already ash, devastated.
And, thirsty for my ordeal,
Sharper still
My memories.
Raw experiences
Of that reality
Of suffering
Before his departure.
Memories, bad memories…
And my eyes tangled
In those evil eyes
And my sweaty body,
Expired already.
My intrinsic Venus
Through my anteries,
With the air of your body,
In a solitude
Crowned by my silent passage,
Among the crouwd
Memories, bad memories…

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