THE MOON VANISHES TOO
The moon, the moon
so attached to my breast,
to my belly; I don’t look at it anymore
as I don’t look into the mirror
the moon, foggy,
lights faintly and only
reminds me of other moments
when along with its crescent
the full moon passion grew stronger
and you, wet on the pebbles
you thought you had captured
the meaning of creation;
you dreamed of a totally
metaphysical season
when not any impressive sun
would stop the poem — moon
since the silvery light
is always more erotic
than the golden light of day.
You thought, foolish girl
that you would wane
in the lascivious moon forever,
though the moon passes
it too vanishes.
Libros Libertad 