Hours

In your bed without suffering,
body of nude moss.

You stretch upon the sheets
like a sunrise of dunes,
and your dark eyes imprison the day.

Your smooth breasts invade my
conquering soul,
I lose sight of the murdered groves.

Why didn’t I die there?
Why must we live beyond the bodies
we throw off like capes?

All else is suffering without hours,
pursued birds without a sky,

Knowledge of love burns
fevers through our braided tongues,

ruins of thirst entomb our sleep.
We linger beyond the death of nights.

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