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 in the mirror.
The foggy moon
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 the impressive sun
wouldn’t stop the poem — moon
since the silvery light
is always more erotic
than the golden light of day.
You, foolish girl, thought
that you would wane
in the lascivious moon forever;
yet the moon also passes,
it too vanishes.
Libros Libertad 