Presiento que si te quiero, será mucho. El pecho me golpea descompasado, receloso de ese planeo estratosférico.

Florica's vacant look
haunted by the spectres of doom,
occasionally bursting of wit.
Still wishing to be blinded
by that can't sleep love.
Not understanding all it was said
they assumed she was unhinged,
but neither of them care about.
Night sky lays in her half-closed mouth,
languidly merging with the ceaseless clattery sound.
Florica's glazed eyes,
her sore body rests now
in the miasmas of unconsciousness.

Scribing words,
I lack the rhyme.
To describe a costume,
not knowing the character.
Could one teach an apricot
overlooking its flavour,
fragrance,
or feel?

Gathering what's left of me.
Parts missing, gears drop out.
Fuel still flowing
oozing in the twisted steel.
Does not ignite, does not blast
does not produce any work.
Snoring and hissing,
auguring advance…
Merely agonizing,
even if I do not deem so.