Wednesday, November 12, 2003

Some tears are smiles

Your body of unquitness extends the hand of washes on the life of the night, a universe that transforms itself into a sudden vertigo of cream.

Your quiet but drawn out hand, soft but delayed, does not leave the moon to die in the cradle of the stars, in a light tablet of air.

Because there is a secret trip on your skin, that still does not belong to me.

A milk mixtures in the blood, and does not leave me to rest, this night. A seed originates color strange trees, that kills the laziness of the feelings.

The sweat of some words is born on the light threshold of the volcano, it remembers me why there is no heat beyond the thought.

But somewhere in the memory of the future, there is a countenance of stars that originates itself, there is somehow any tear of you, that is changedded into a smile.

It has a candy madness wine on the table. It has a little of life that you keep as a prismatic treasure.

Sex is not totally justified with the friction of the skin.

Monday, November 10, 2003

I loved you still

I loved you in a life
that still thus died in
as when I saw the refined
knife of whitewash shining
the penknife of your look stream
I already knew
that you were offering
your destiny figure of a salt bridge
and sugar chest, still I went
in a mud wagon but already knew
that you were shinning in
inopportune and disfigured hand
you still had in balance on seaweed leaves
they were summer nights we tore together
the milk of a sensual bell shinning a memory
still thus I loved you in universal concept
when we looked at the time that
brooked the bones of love
thus I always loved you in
a wheat seed