Let me talk.
I want to talk about those complaints.
where I pile up the untold years
in the sealed cabinets of the soul
And in spring I timidly open them
to get some of the intoxicant
the memorable scent of lavender.
And I watch them like my greedy eyes
-I swear-
Because they are the ones that shamelessly remind us
of man his heavy mortality
and sculpt his own whole being
a relief portrait of an idol.
Let me talk.
I long to shout with all my strength
To exorcise the moments that are prostituted
for a few crumbs of virgin expectations
And on the evenings when the dominant Star rests
They roll in the mind the hard-to-reach places
They stray as if they hear whistles,
seeking the rhythm of an immature memory.
Let me talk.
Is this a difficult time?
Dignity struggles to be maintained
on a decently bleeding surface
and to place it under the high protection of
a seabed that heals its wounds
with sea anemone essences,
wearing his rocks
of coral necklaces precious.
And I feel grateful now.
for this bracelet you gave me
made of solid pearls.
How much do handcuffs hurt at night?
as if the soul is riding the horses.
And the clock means twelve.
And the butterfly spreads its wings proudly
waking up from hibernation
And looks with excessive tenderness
the cocoon that tears at the edge.
photo by TBIT, https://pixabay.com
