He rubbed the heart, do you recognize this woman?
It's not me anymore
the nostalgia slides in the snail of the hours,
the space of success is so ambiguous
and my feet are forgotten,
also the eyes,
although the tide swallows us with its killer mollusk
and the cosmos bleeds it the moon,
his shirt is a prickly door
that I will not cross.
I stalk my fugitive,
also the orbit of the dress,
I chase roses and only find branches,
it's drying up!
The black wind remains to me.
I remove the penalty and I dismantle it
I have love in the scapular
and he's groping me,
my misgivings are a mismatch
and I shoe this glassy parenthesis,
in me it detonates the heat
where I consume,
his name flies
plundering me the thought.
¿Where is God?
Why not stop this scenario that is
I do not find a beam
and I stink this blood craquelada that no longer thinks,
I keep the ashes of my triumphs in a grain of
why I disarm myself
and I eat alone.
Love is uninhabited on the canvas of twilight
and is capped with the sunset,
with his will,
only the voice in the hand breaks
and my organs are solitary leaves
where no one writes.
Someone sucks the notes of the blood,
someone takes my life between their legs,
the mouse reaches me
the poem is close to being someone
and someone awaits a dedication
and in the peaks of Death the time moves
which will not return,
someone always waits and waits.
FOR THIS HEBREW (BOOK)