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Lean forward
And **** the stain
From my shirt.
Use your tongue
To lap up my error
And my father’s error
And my ancestor’s error, too.

Pull my hair back
Like a Pez dispenser;
I’ll let you promenade
Down my jugular
In return, let this cube
From my rouge pint
Feel you, see you
Three-hundred and sixty
Degrees around
Peaks of flavor.

If my loving you
Is sinful, then let
These sultry demons
Pick at my *****;
Scorching its pinions
Asunder.

Let my soul
Plunge south
So I can rest
My dreary head
Under your shades
And your grass-patches

Let my hands
Reach north
To the sky;
Holding your ever
Radiant sun
So that I may love you
All morning and
All night long.
 Mar 2010 Otter
Octavio Paz
Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.

— The End —