Sexual water

Rolling to single drops,
drop like teeth,
to thick drops of jam and blood,
rolling to drops,
the water falls,
like a sword in drops,
like a heartbreaking river of glass,
it falls biting,
hitting the axis of symmetry, hitting on the seams of the
soul,
breaking abandoned things, soaking the dark.

It's just a breath, wetter than crying,
a liquid, a sweat, an unnamed oil,
a sharp movement,
becoming, thickening,
the water falls,
to slow drips,
towards its sea, towards its dry ocean,
to his wave without water.

I see the summer long, and a rattle coming out of a barn,
wineries, cicadas,
populations, stimuli,
rooms, girls
sleeping with your hands in your heart,
dreaming of bandits, with fires,
I see boats,
I see pith trees
bristling like rabid cats,
I see blood, daggers and women's stockings,
and hairs of man,
I see beds, I see corridors where a virgin shouts,
I see blankets and organs and hotels.

I see the secretive dreams,
I admit the last days,
and also the origins, and also the memories,
like an eyelid atrociously lifted by force
I am looking.

And then there is this sound:
a red noise of bones,
a sticking of meat,
and yellow legs like spikes coming together.
I listen between the shot of the kisses,
I listen, shaken between breaths and sobs.

I'm watching, hearing,
with half the soul in the sea and half the soul
on earth,
and with the two halves of the soul I look at the world.

and even if I close my eyes and cover my heart entirely,
I see a dull water fall,
to deaf drips.
It's like a gelatine hurricane,
like a cataract of sperm and jellyfish.
I see a cloudy rainbow running.
I see the water passing through the bones.