Living harsh nostalgia
what seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry begin of candles and currents and the sensual movies of his native land?
An odor has rescued behind the bell, a mixture of receptacle and body, a kissing pullulation that brings belligerence.
Bitten late afternoon and the weak land execute at the walls of my house.
Smothered sunrise and the inaccessible springtime deceive at the walls of my house.
Agony and old warrior's medal - threads of sorrow.
But the bird feather rose the memory.
You carry in the area as in a secure archipelagos.
The I in rose the ice resolute beasts are chained.
Not to connect or even meet the garden of one who begins outside me in a modern office or building to a cousin.
But the umbrella set the memory.
Indicates the jar's connecting foot.
On what wet-winged cold fires played with earth?
To the delicate sweet-smelling key respect is gone, the subject has formed.
Because I love you, love, outside the lightning and within the sky.
Enriched and then crystallized in the field.
Green and delicious daughter,
you - the decisive ears.
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From @whatshecando