Published via Ecency

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I cut my throat
while saying your name.
The newspapers
are the color of ashes
that fracture my back.
I could have died in the fire
without flowers on my skin.

Your skin was my throat
with the scar on your belly.
A scar that isn't a
just as it isn't a
the texture of your body
tattooed on my body.
A flower without thorns
that hurts in silence.

I don't remember if I had said it
it was my skin screaming your skin.

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Unfinished haiku.
Despite this,
he gives her a flower

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I saw a butterfly carrying flowers to the rainbow and all I thought about was you...
I don't know why, but it happens.

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Every dawn has its thorns,
its shadows...
And yet,
it blooms.

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The gentleman from Paris
has given her a flower;
has given her a flower
a barefoot heart.

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Succulent, the causal
that blooms beyond the journey.
Thornless petals,
a timeless story
unravels in your hands.

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In spite of you,
the only flower blooms on the road

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Smile and coffee flower.
Broken lips
embracing the field of your breasts.

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The flower crackles.
Black and white petals,
love in the wind.

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Legs spread,
calm in the darkness.
Tiredness...
Breakfast on the flower
brought to us by the wind.
Delay of a journey,
suicide of the innocent.

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This is my participation in the contest that @photofeed proposes to us through the #photofeed community.

With this publication I continue participating in the challenge #Hive14Challenge that @hivecreatorsday is offering us until October 20.

Thank you very much for your visit!

_{This post was partially translated using Google Translate and the photos were taken with an iPhone SE.}

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Me corté la garganta
mientras decía tu nombre.
Los periódicos
tienen el color de las cenizas
que fracturan mi espalda.
Pude morir al fuego
sin flores en la piel.

Tu piel era mi garganta
con la cicatriz de tu vientre.
Cicatriz que no es una
como tampoco es una
la textura de tu cuerpo
tatuada en mi cuerpo.
Flor sin espinas
que duele en el silencio.

No recuerdo si lo había dicho
era mi piel gritando tu piel.

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Haïku inconcluso.
A pesar de ello,
él le regala una flor

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He visto una mariposa llevando flores al arcoíris y solo pensé en ti...
No sé por qué, pero sucede.

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Todo amanecer tiene sus espinas,
sus sombras...
Y aun así,
florece.

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El caballero de París
le ha regalado una flor;
le ha regalado una flor
un corazón descalzo.

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Suculento lo causal
que florece más allá del viaje.
Pétalos sin espinas,
atemporal historia
desecha en tus manos.

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