Naked, you are a perfected flame of truth.
And there is a storm of dark ink in the bowl of your being
that leaves me alone, that disrobes my intent.

Naked, you are a broken flame of longing.
And every part of me is a cloud divided in the roots,

and our bodies are entangled in a hedge of ribs,
are like a squall braiding and un-braiding the hills,
while our savage ink surpasses us.

And we return to our solitary heels, with a skin of memories,
with a still impenetrable need, with a still deeper loss.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s