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viernes, 30 de agosto de 2013

Love is the greatest force the world and yet the meanest.

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To get to love me ...


This day in the elevator, our concern has forbidden kiss.Despite seeing us without the usual cargo of fears and illusions, opal eye and thirst that burns in our bodies. 

You are in front of me, like a garden tiller in my veins, burning where flowers burst. Ardent tangle of stories in this land of shadows and foam birds. 

You are in me, with the pomp of eternal foliage .. 

Let me fill my lips smile, understand that my life is made ​​for the peaks and not for the abyss. I want to get away to the station anonymously and caress your hair moons. 

This day our concern has forbidden kiss. The elevator opened and a golden pollen falls on my naked heart. While you remain silent and cold. 

It is the mystery that opens our hands, it
is the love that left and never returned.A wind in the orange groves where trembles singing the woes ... 

Miro your trail in vivid ways: signing into silence, tables with white tablecloths, projects chaste nights, dreams of nerve branches, verbal perfumes, dances and bars ... I look into your night: Candid gallantry, donations to the church and measured accents of your words. 

How do you find the wheres, the hows, the whys? As articulate what was lost and what is only a moment of who plays to wander, to dream ... to have an unreal scenery and a piano sheet. You walk and retrace with closed eyelids. 


To get to love we must learn to release the wings of birds and surrender without drunkenness from open streams. 

Today I look like a child running scared not to, with its autumn sun on as my silhouette; sure to live life to forget. You do not hear the noise of dreams, sweet grass falling, pets and leaves, fresh or shore where barefoot ignore the wind.No break you splash cold or flowers with words. 

Your moon appears in the sky to backlight pm ... 

The thick shadow has shut our mouths, hands amarrándonos intact. 

I've come home, I see by far the imposing traffic, and flashing lights on the heads of motorists. I sit at the computer, suspended in time and conjugo red, indigo, silver, the sweetness of autumn, yellow .. the new music and the faded stars. 




In this prison of my soul without turning tracks. 
I am the rose and paled, the fearful trembling leaf between your wings, an empty nest. 
Behind me are the long, cold breeze, a distant music, skin blazed prohibited. 
I am a love of solitude, full of shade, a cold ashes of illusion, a silent flight. 
I am the love that runs through the long nights of full blue vases and rhythms. 
I would like to touch you, and stay in your ears, with the air of my words. 
Love first, intimate as mine. 

If not we be come the
and not to the left,
anything between nothing and nothing,

zero by zero and zero,
and if between nothing and nothing
nothing can exist,
toast
not for the beautiful
our bodies.


Only in dreams
only in the other world
sleep you get,
at certain times,
when I close doors
behind me.
And you tight,
slowly
until my blood.
T and hug me hug 
and with my hand on my mouth,
I look and I look ....


At dawn hard
you're desvaneciéndote 
and in my arms
only is your shadow.



P ecause we were friends and, at times, 
we loved each other; 
perhaps to add another interest 
to the many we already required 
we decided to play mind games. 
We put a board in front of us: 
equal parts, values, 
movements in possibility. 
We learned the rules, I swear respect 
and started the game. 
Here we are a century ago, sitting, 
bitterly meditating 
how to give the final blow to annihilate 
in final mode, forever, to the other. 


P ienso that man kissing
as if the sea were to 
overflow,
you sow your smile in my skin
with haughty 
Tang, drawing my loneliness
about the fog. 
I think this man docile in my eyes,
faithful, full, full. 
In his flight time humidified without
without space. 
As spring on autumn wheat. 
I think the man who invents soles,
Touch silk water 
a simple truth and to love me. 
That way, fickle, my man. 
In the silent trembling of his heartbeat,
in his eyes dark 
challenges. 
I think the man who waits for me
sweet rapture. 
Wheat in her hair that fills me
a tide of petals and 
trills. 
The man: 
Wild Sun
river music and silence,
bird at dawn. 
I think of this man
and no flavor in music
color and aroma,
newly opened carnations
and snowy flowers
in my dreams. 


Plato neither for nor against you

Who cares
if you burned your days of fictions, 
if you raised on sand
your imaginary world 
dreaming of treasures
Gulfs in turn. 
Who cares
if they saw on the night life 
and the morning were not what
helps to live. 
Stop asking
if it was worth it 
devote many verses
a similar theme. 
What you thought they were,
what they are,
whatever. 
And what if now the dream
does not arrive 
to reconcile with the other,
mythical, 
and beg you,
if you have feelings, it 
morning to you,
do you care, one day 
different, 
the other end. 




I'll turn off the light 
to stay in the dark with your face 
to reinvent that moment: 
Ethereal and sudden intimacy 
skin in the voice, 
voice in song, 
on the look ... 
I'll turn off the light 
because the dark forces me to draw you, 
gives me the freedom to put together the sweet tenderness, 
tracing craving solitude and delete ... 
I'll turn off the light 
to think about you.



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