Velvet
Words played in our eyes yet we kept our lips tightly
shut like the stanza of the poem written during the night
we felt scared; the pines brought messages from
the south wind, aroma of freshly baked bread
we stole when young, that we never feel hungry
again. Notes underscored the defeat of our argument
and fear lurked on the edge of our lips: another myth
was lost amid the words that narrated it. Our desires
paraded in the plaza, garment made of black velvet
flowed over our skin as we went to the little chapel
to scandalize the icons of our saints. Then we closed
our eyes and run to the closest hotel, not a single
word spoken.
I like those with a deep wound in their souls, who
can be easily destroyed. Those willingly pass over
the bridge.
Libros Libertad 