"A poem is never finished, only abandoned." |
at last
i can feel again...
if you climb silently into my skin
on a cold windy night...
Marielle grew up
in a slum and started work...
what i think of you is unprintable.
sometimes i think it is deeply unconscious...
forgive me but there are some days
in which the gods can't touch...
Touch my most profound skin and I will call this love.And I will call you love. |
It reaches through my skin and pierces the night saying: I am, I am , I am. |
What is love but the verb that caught fire? |