Concrete Carnival







Concrete Carnival


You stood up, handsome
with the effect of a monster
that everyone calls fear
and fucks in the time it takes
a traffic light to empty nipples
and saves them onto lips
ready for kisses.

You were not always sunk
and scattered in night's grooves.
There was a time when your initiates
touched your sex like amaranth
hard as day-old caramel,
when the wind of wood pigeons
invoked a blast in your pants,
the cracks of your streets and sidewalks.
And there were bad times because
of my terminal illness of “the end of the trip"
where ice was not ice but it burned.

My heart hurts, on the right side,
whenever your kids call you faggot.
I feel like building a basement in your memory.
Do not let moss and fear give away your age.
I look in this city, your eyes,
high demand of your tile skin,
that once had the innocence
of Michelangelo's David 
and I sigh.



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