At the edge
He gave her a night
One night, to hold on
Of times to come, or times gone.
At the edge
He looked over the deep end of his soul
And saw hers
She cushioned his fall with pretexts of false protection.
The darkness conceals the end from us
But It does not conceal us from the end.
One does not reach the end of himself
With a healthy existence
And a lasting breath.
There, where no one is looking except your own eyes
Truths are equivalent to lies
None condemns you
Yet none will save you
From a single moment
Of forgiveness.
A black tea,
Silver wings on tired lungs
A dog living on the balcony
The sun hesitates
Waits for the smile to step outside
So all can fit together
And the moon becomes a lover.
The larger and brighter the dreams
The sweeter the words with which
The merciless lover kills it,
He never told her he knew she loved him no more
He entertained her proclamations
And pleased with her remaining efforts
Tingling the edges of dead mornings.
Together, each with perfected expertise and readiness
Told the ultimate love story
The one that never breaks
But never mends,
And followed.
The whole idea behind words of love,
Is a flood.
Completeness
Reservations belong to language
Love is where language lives and grows
Love wither with words like “but”
It escapes the words when they attempt previous knowledge
A body for a body
Flesh for flesh
Lust for lust
All those passing through my bed
Are blessed by betrayal
Not of body
But of words.
