You…

I don’t know if you’ll be my moon
brightening my nightmares
colouring my restlessness
giving brightness to the lights
suffocating the shadows.

I don’t know if you’ll be the sun
that vindicates my sleepy aura
reactivates the copper in my veins
the intermittent gurgling of my shell
rebirth of corporeal heat
when we recreate the nothingness between us.

Or the shooting star
that invites banishment
to the darkness of my breast
to the faint-hearted thoughts
to the sentimental greenhouses
designing the path of oblivion
granting me my hidden desire.

Perhaps…
Neither moon
nor sun
nor shooting star
… Just be
I don’t know
… What destiny had imposed on me.

Lethargic bronchi resurfacing
after the debacles of other people’s times
exhaling unsuspected aromas
juxtaposing hermetic feelings
they make up a private Eden
an oasis in hell.

They create inexplicable feelings
sensations light the fuse
executing dreams
reconstructing feelings
proactive ideas of crazy minds.

A silky spread
gazes from hell
embers that detonate souls
a climax that dumbfoundedly questions
what happened this time.

Lovers’ feelings
obscene desire of lovers
identical questions
True meaning.

Question that terrifies their souls
smears their minds
Masks their bound bodies.

Lying on leaves
a bed of roses
they draw Picassian scenes
amidst an impetuous halo.

Something self-conscious
something forgotten
a necessary specimen
a poem in love
in this illiterate world.

O.