‘Should I go on top?’
She asked as if she didn’t know me like nobody else,
and I saw death as a cat on brown streets.
They all come back to their shelters,
to fat wives, to mad husbands,
to cold food,
to open windows,
to broken wires…
They all come back to immersion like a sailor on vacation,
they all go to get cigarettes and come back to die a little more.
She was on top, taking the machine,
she was jumping inside deep waters and I was getting lonely again,
I was getting the sweet abundance again…
I was forgetting the poet inside me…
Again.
The death was beautiful as it has always been,
I was typing after almost one month.
The art and the shadows were mixed in a triggered soul,
there’s never a goodnight in this blue world.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Google.

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