XXVI (de Diario Cómplice) Poem by LUIS GARCÍA MONTERO
XXVI (de Diario Cómplice)
Bajo una lluvia fría de polígono,
con un cielo drogado de tormenta
y nubes de extrarradio.
Porque este amor de llaves prestadas nos envuelve
en una intimidad provisional,
paredes que no hacen compañía
y objetos como búhos en la sombra.
Son
las sábanas más tristes de la tierra.
Mira
cómo vive la gente
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: son
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8/29/2026 4:11:02 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
