Sometimes I remember your image
naked in the empty night,
your weightless body opens up
and I embrace my own lie.
Thus my blood resumes
tensely sleeping song,
my fingers squeeze, lovers,
a deep rhythm of caresses.
Inside
I burn for you,
I pour myself out without you
and a dead person is born.
My hand chased away loneliness
taking your precise shape,
the skin that I made for you in the air
receives a tremor of seed.
A quiet fatigue spreads me,
your image is quickly erased,
an absence of hunger fills me
and a sweet heat of saliva.
Inside
I burn for you,
I pour myself out without you
and a dead person is born.

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS