Poems? Thoughts?
I dare not call them such.
Just something to savor.
I propose again the module of the novel. I hope indeed that many others will want to participate. More details, equivalent to a story faithful to your tastes and desires.
Do not be shy!
A tear,
born of the sadness of the neighbor,
descends along the rough physiognomy,
of my face,
still warm of your moods.
It inflames on the way,
letting fall,
contaminated by the legacy of past pleasure,
located in the interlude of two legs,
it outlines and gets stained,
until when on the edge of the border,
passes,
from me devil,
to you now impure soul.
You tightened mine,
hands in the throat,
soaked in his own life,
shake,
and they force your gaze,
to my,
in the wire that binds,
the puppeteer from his,
always defined work,
simply,
doll.
You are in the jargon,
in the mere word,
for the world of such puritans.
Not in what I call truth,
there is something that represents it better,
of the indescribable love,
that a perverse heart,
hear in every sound,
burn everywhere,
in the instant that thought assumes,
the features of your being.
Restless,
with the thread of voice that the grasp you dare grant,
careless of breed,
further suffering,
you ask,
the reason for the tear drop,
you worry for a moment,
that it arose from remorse.
In the smile of those who want to comfort,
you incite and want to cheer up,
with clear words how much suffering,
hold still,
the phrase,
your.
I obey,
of an obedience that generates crime,
unspeakable other pain,
wreaking does not create relief,
as I descend and kidnap your eyes,
free yourself from the unbearable hand grip,
I savor your vehement breath,
broken on the wall of my lips,
so near,
so much to make them,
almost mirror.
In caressing your hair, my love,
I owe you the explanation,
of the tear,
born not of remorse or change,
but from having understood
that what people like us have,
not everyone can understand.
This made the thought alone unbearable,
of a myopic world to the passion,
to the feeling that I feel in seeing you suffer,
or in the pleasure you feel,
in abandoning yourself to it.
i feel Pain,
so much trouble for them.
They do not know,
the love of everything or nothing.
♥
₪All images and text published in this post are mine or my original work₪
There are those who love, those who think they love, those who would love.
And finally, who gives everything and has everything.
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