Friday, August 04, 2017



Never tell me that secret.
Keep it to yourself,
that between us the convulsive
beauty of this island may last.
Embezzled of its green,
hope broken island.

Incendiary seed of an afternoon
that illuminated fertile land, those vines
hidden at the bottom of their own abyss.
Hurricane winds between the lips
of your sweet wine.

The music of water when I dig into your skin
and elaborate with thirst my ancient hoe.
The frightened caress, the dark kiss,
your salt collapse

and your landslide.
The convulsive beauty of the cry
that crossed this isle.

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