Whoever loves invents the things he loves.
Maybe you came when I dreamed of you.
And suddenly the flame lit up.
It was the dormant embers that woke up.
A new flight over the rubble,
bells tolled in the air of surprise,
played by those special angels
who have the gift of resurrecting.
A divine rhythm?
Simply
the beating of our hearts
who beat together and in celebration,
or lonely, with a sad rhythm.
My poor, my great distant love,
you don't even know how much good it does to people
having dreamed
and having lived the dream.
When I make love with you
I will have sculpted skin
like fringes of alabaster
to shed drunken light on you.
When I make love with you
I will be beautiful naked
in your hands
and like a leaf caressed by the wind
I will tremble shaped by love.
When I make love with you
I will have childish graces
amidst the stupid illusion
like dazzling naivety
of first love.
When I make love with you
I'll be drunk alive
in the clutter of the room
like an August blaze
and in spite of myself
I will have a cry in my heart.
When I make love with you
I will be more beautiful than a bride
hot
fragile
languid
tender
daring
on her wedding night.
When I make love with you
hold me in your arms
and all the glass stars
they will become fire of joy
and it will never be night.
I had to wait for you a thousand years
and then a thousand
when I make love with you
it will be the first time.
Using teeth and throats, lips for breath beats, the flesh to whisper, storm of veins, paw, sweat. In the shell of your eyes winters a hard star, an eternal gem. But your voice is a calm sea, ancient shells, pieces of reason, mind in fragments of the sea. The palm of the hand in the sky he marvels, the sun darkens, to be able to look at you better. You are also a grass, an orange, a cloud, a rock on which to crash. The world falters at the kidneys, the pleasure of the inner sediment contracts. The heat of the heart expands, twisting towards the atrocious futures. We sat exhausted in the rubble of your body, we sucked the liquor from your brain, and not only that, and we had to keep walking jumping over obstacles of love. You are suspended on the circle of life and you hold your skull well polished like an ancient object, you cover it with your hair, you put it back. Put on another wig and you are another different woman. You have only indulged in your perfume of infinity.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 