Shattered
By Luz María López
These insomniac days wandering on the trench
aromatizing ephemeral visions
essences exhausted by the breath of the wind
the tattered blush of the red garden roses
wishes rusting over the eyes
and the frayed voices
pulsing minutes in my hands
whirlwind of images circulating fast
dispersion (against the clock)
of the mind’s books
and behind the walls I still hear
the echo of old songs
streaming from the jukebox
filling the wine glass
with poetry,
all shattered!
I see your shadows slithering
under the lintel of the door
always tied to my incandescent skin
and the sea that takes everything away
-inexorably-
but here where the days doze
there isn’t forgetfulness
or any resignation
just heaps of salt to heal
so many wounds.
By Luz María López
These insomniac days wandering on the trench
aromatizing ephemeral visions
essences exhausted by the breath of the wind
the tattered blush of the red garden roses
wishes rusting over the eyes
and the frayed voices
pulsing minutes in my hands
whirlwind of images circulating fast
dispersion (against the clock)
of the mind’s books
and behind the walls I still hear
the echo of old songs
streaming from the jukebox
filling the wine glass
with poetry,
all shattered!
I see your shadows slithering
under the lintel of the door
always tied to my incandescent skin
and the sea that takes everything away
-inexorably-
but here where the days doze
there isn’t forgetfulness
or any resignation
just heaps of salt to heal
so many wounds.
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