Your two-handed sword fell from your hands
creating space for my dreamy fingers...
I look at him,
thinking of my horizontal life...
I am not a noble woman, I am a mongrel
and I sleep with pack of barking dogs...
I go beyond maps, seeking the language of beings
when she pulls my strings, healing me, awakening...
What is this thing in life
that keeps me dazzled and dazed...
Her lips are petrified:
she lost the prophecies...
I bear you upon back,
bringing me mud...
The brute oblivion of the sea smothers me
with unforgivable fingers as I load my memory...
She feels it:
waters bend...
They hid refined cruelties beneath the green...
She watched everything paralyzed on the faded red...
I've been running out of adjectives and emotions.
I choked on a subject or maybe my life has lost...
I loosen my hair in the wind,
writing fragments of poetry...