Tightening the eyelids,
I will play,
waiting for them to knock on the door...
...
Perfums of the pink acacia,
a moon crowned with lips of fires.
the silent vision of some bodies,
in a flowery bridge.
...
Feeling the smoothness of the snow,
the steam coming out of my nostrils,
crackling my steps on the ground,
in the solid silence of the night.
...
If the sheets were skins....
and my body,
were those bodies,
I would haunt the bed, .......
...
I love Sunday mornings!
When the city barely babbles softly,
and only some rumors cut the song of the birds.
...
My Dark Child
The time is short,
and the eternal mysteries,
they will remain.
This is Earth,
dear deads,
and not another dream.
And here the moment,
to live it...
just once.
Memories,
as grain fall,
dust of time.
In my sadness,
in darkness,
all beings
¿Who will remake,
this body,
what is still throbbing?
I Know to double the pain......
pervives childhood,
as a wounded tree.
Under the twilight,
we are strangers
A rarity
It rains hard,
and the night stretches...
memories are drops.
The walls whisper,
voices from the past
that at nightlaugh.
I'm deceived,
this is what I have:
empty hands
After the scars,
my heart beats,
and crave.
"You are not alone",
They say...
But I know the truth.
Although I dance and laugh,
my soul bleeds....
Take my hand!