Not A Vulgar Tablecloth Poem by Cristobal Benjumea

my love my clouds

So soon it rains

The sun eclipsed, and you cloud are like dew, like rain

not sun, burn endlessly like my rage which i scrible here

i wanted to suport union not separation

clouds rivers meadows and sun

the theatre

A dignifieed apoteosis

worthy of the gardens of babylon

with the wisdom of fields of wheat

and excesssive caressing

sating
relating
skating sensation of a ray of starr

silable of serenade

I revered you

i loved the real you

what became of you