destined sacredness in the red of the blood,
intertwined shoots from the wisdom of redemption:

- Woman,
no one has ever trusted us more than the good God,
he entrusted us with all his love, with the seed of the worldly fruit,
by his favor we find delight,

- Man,
no one has ever trusted us more than the good God,
he has entrusted us with the source of life,
with all his indulgence he entrusted us,

- let”s never withdraw our holiness, Man
- let”s never forget our purpose, Woman

God has given us all His strength, Man
- That's right, Woman, he gave us all his forgiveness,
his ways, his eyes, his light,
he gave us the whole life in one endless night,
he gave us the potency of sharing  the joy and pleasure of being Man&Woman

- Man, the woman in me is just for you
- Woman, the man in me is just for you

He lives in our eyes, heralds of love affairs,
take me in your arms, Man - come close to Him,
lay your cheeks on my ******* eagerly waiting for your lips,
what a hard-working man you are, listen to a woman's heavy breathing,
a flame that burns in your diligence born of sighing and yearning:
bathe in the richness of the perpetuation of eternal life,
quench your endless thirst in the belly full of sap and fruit,

- look into my eyes, Man
- look into my eyes, Woman

Woman of the holy ray, - come near Him,
let your ear be heard in the beating of the ******* worthy of kisses from the rain,
in the land of peonies, I will be the gardener of your red cheeks,
I promise you everything you want, that you are a woman
I will be a river of honey that flows through the fruitful blood,
-we are his equals, Woman, he built us creators like Him

Generous and dignified Man,
- promise me not to withdraw our holiness from each other,
I'll bring you my lips every night,
rose petals to cover your eyes dazed by the pleasure of bed in two;
the witness of carnal pleasure.
let us give ourselves as if we were living the last moment of delight:

- Man, no one has ever been so generous with us
- Woman, no one has ever been so good to us

- by the command to love one another
he entrusted us with his Holy Ornaments, Man

- he entrusted us with the Source of his Life, Woman

The master of the dawn said: - It's strange to be here
on the black lips of the fields, and the evening caught up in between drops,
black trees making me shiver, - Kalos Gheron all dressed up in wet clothes,
blowing hair in the sky and a long beard rooting in the ground,
without cravings and sandals, penetrated by rain, crushed by worries
at the farm, takes the cows to pasture, - the mystery has not left them,
in peace, they ruminate wisely,
the master of the dawn said: - it, also, will snow tomorrow at the fair.

It's morning in the broken smile by tender snow,
heroic, simple, altruistic,
doubtless is sleeping on the branches with the hearing and sight of a partridge,
under the selfish blue sky, a trumpeter improvises,
- the aristocratic fields parade their white robes,
and the deer you saw last night is lying naked on the blind grass,
waiting for the groom in feather flakes to come,
two stars slip in her eyelashes gently whispering:
- down at the spring the lord of heaven cries out to us,
the time to receive the prayer (until dawn) arrives.

The master of the dawn said:- with him, I kindly realize how fear drifts far
and how his fantasy rotates, thaws the mist into white locks, (like a trumpeter playing
outside the scene with extinguished effect) at the call of the stars
the lord of heaven calls us.

the raindrops  commit suicide  on the window
as if
they washed the  goodbye  message with the blood of the water,

- the rain today carries swords like a samurai,
kills the morning,
the horizon is a simple bandana ******* on the eyes,

don't worry,
in case if you do not come
i will understand, - we will be those, others
in their words,
their lips, their smell and
their mornings, -
sometimes
dressed up in discreet clothes,  other times naked
on the knees
dragging our elbows (as in a war),
elbows gnawed by others,

their rain
will bring back the good splashes for the lonely ones like us, but
not the single one

in a blister of days,
it is raining,
finally
- raining

it's unfair to hate the morning
- it's unfair to hate,
because
neither the new nor the old
after burning the night
this day does not return in vain,
this day is a good day to be: a leaf
scribbled by the blue of the sky,
green sprawling on the ground, the sea
turned upside down (steam hanging from the sky
mornings), - today i woke up
with all colors of mine caressing  the faint frost on the top of the grass,
dressing up for the winter, wood and smoke rodents,
- to lighten up  the agate eye
i did not  forget the summer flowers either,
colored dust and water
"holi diwali", smiles in clay lanterns, lost kiss in rangoli
- ah, darling,
do not forget,
this day is a good day to be your favorite color,  like
the color of the sky,  of the sun,  earth, or grass ...

you will never know where you forget it
or lose it,
the night is an overstuffed  suitcase
that you never know when it will open wild,

i saw you walking, even more
i touched you a little with my elbow
everywhere
on the platform, it opened like the mouth of a boa constrictor,
i see myself running with a red ribbon in my hand,
for the first time, we are face to face
overwhelmed by our presence
we become dwarfs: ”poems, poems,… how much lipothymia,
these poems really did it to us, it brought us into exasperation ”- you bite your chapped lips,
i look at your fingers, searching  to hold a cigarette between your lips
no words
naive, i repeat "stay, stay", the train is coming
it's time to live, you lift your suitcase (tightly tied)
i see a rabbit with wet, bright eyes running,

it's autumn, the leaves are like red ***** hanging in the trees,
i clench my teeth, my hands, my eyes tighten, again
determined i want to squeeze all the pain (i would make a fat must),
i want to slap my face,
so, i wake up
to remember how in school i had to learn the names of every war battle,
to learn the name of each river, bridge,
the name of each soldier,
if i knew them, i would be given a red pioneer tie
(which needed to be ironed and kept close to my bed)
at night
stuffed like an old suitcase
the train leaves,
as if through the fog I see you on the platform: - do you want a cigarette,
- thank you, i don't smoke.

(the smoke rolls like a boa constrictor)

warm sun  
burning my lips, cheeks, shoulders, *******,
skin
i opened my eyes and saw how we lost one of our lives -
all that remained was thirst until  our lips cracked,  and
we snacked the lives that remained unstolen.

as you want

non-existence,
yours,
beautiful/old/beautiful/ugly/young/ death woman/
madam -
it does not make any difference,
It doesn”t

tell me what you want, how you want,
- if it makes you feel good
make me the 13th day of the month, year, century,
i know, this year you weren't unlucky enough
tell me how you want: - morbid, bone marrow disease,
cold-lipped monastery,
the wanderer of wandering poems,
the beloved from the workshop, - considered
unsatisfactory,

steal everything you want: questions, thoughts,
eyes, lips, sleep,
- you can be speechless,
consider yourself the last man on earth,
pretend that you do not exist, -

you will not succeed,


for me you are

you

are

the sonnet of a sublime dream,

by the way, - beautifully sublime,

i feel at ease

i will shout many times

i will scream

Sublime! (until i get tired)

you

anyway,

tell me how you want, what you want,

you will not succeed

you will not push me away like you are used to

Connect to God

and you are right there

because where else could we go?

i am thinking of you, until when.

when. not seeing you.

i stretch out my hands (like a blind man)
stepping on sounds -
pieces of glass underfoot

keeping you pierced in my heels. until

when. i can't hear you.

i soften your steps with my lips

when. i don't touch you.

i don't touch yourtouch.  

until

i cry

dream in the night breeze
tell me
who
who crushes our cries
who keeps us on our knees

dream in the night breeze
look into my eyes
touch my lips with promises
promise me to hold me in your arms

promise me

i will plant for you a forest in the desert
to be able to shout at me
the echo to knock on every door
and ask
how to have you

- clearwater how to drink you

this loneliness is needless
the roads are superfluous
even the rain is a stranger
an intruder
it can leave
it can leave
to leave us
to leave us alone
to leave us in the lust of madness

let it be the day when we are grassroots  growing in soil
let it be the day when we are water in the riverbed
mysterious light
a whisper in the creed

you are all I have
you are all I have in my heart

when do you come?

I received a ticket to the land of never happened,
not knowing how to find its non-end
I flew until  landed on an eyelid,
- you were standing still,

then I thought,

to be able to stand face to face,
let”s carve the gate of the kissless,
- we have eyes, we have,
we flow into them like a river of milk,
eye to eye, lip to lip, - no kiss,
like marble statues, we remain devoted to innocence,
we keep it as holy water,
we drink it without wetting our lips,
without being crazy to kiss when the village burns,

and instead of the table of silence
we better carve the table of non-silence
- everything will be perfect,
without struggling in our own nets,
we hide in one eye, small, small,
unseen and beautiful,
when the unlived would see us
so cute, and quiet,
quite,
like two fireflies,
would let us,
it would let us play between your eyebrows,

*

and we played,
we played with two strands of grass,
the grass of never happened,
it was sweet
so sweet
that the insomnia of a poem struck us,
(already written by the other eye,
but who cares
when I already had a ticket to the land of never happened)

sunrise promised to wait for us
the dawn did not rise over the village,
in the eyes of the muses
the dawn promised to wait for us

muses are not like poets,
not even like the sun
that
burns its rays on the cascades moved by lazy waves,

- the dawn did not rise over the village,
the down promised to wait for us,
swore to the muses,
swore that the water would comb at the rising sun
  smoothly
it will burn in his eyes like the star of the night while planting a garden
where
the muses smolder all year round like flowers, or
like coal extracted from the hearts of poets,

Who Told You

You call again, and you talk endlessly
In this house, we spend many nights
Night after night, night after night
You tell me that you are mine
Now you left first, stay where you are,
Do not call me, do not ask

Why you call, who tolled you
That I miss you
Who told you that I love you
Your shadow follows me
like a spell running after me,
running after me
after you left,

How many time I have to tell you
We are the unfortunate one,

Stop calling me, stop talking with me
My home is not your home
I want to forget, I want to
Forget your voice, there is nothing
Nothing we can share,

~ your power and money you protect assiduously are not yours, but somebody else’s belongs

~ to those that stay bend in front of the sewing machines, and sweat from morning to night in the rice fields

~ carving out their backs in faith and in prayer, when you are exploiting every inch of their skin in hidden forms of slavery,

~You, wearing  at your ceremonies clothes made by devoted hands waiting for centuries justice to come and kiss their palms with humbleness and forgiveness,  

~while you still keep covering your misery of habit and greed in silk and playing the saver of those that never gave up on fighting against your lost sense of humanity ...

easiness
the traveling light
thaws time
- from sunset
to the east
late borders we are
watered by rain with its silence,
- two halves of a stone rounding their edges in the sun,
two forgotten lips in the lull between two *******

I get stuck too,
because
sometimes
I wonder
what to say
when I
myself have not finished my waiting,
my obsessions, my doubt, ...
and when I finish it,
how will I be able to advise you?

How I can be sure?

When, still, all my obsessions
and commitments
go hand in hand.

I don't know,

Honestly,

Sometimes,

If these words are not superfluous,
Forgive me for announcing you
That you have your own life,
Wait for it!
As she waited for you …

We are here,
no matter what, we are here,
and
never stop,

We are here to try and
desire.

If the desire for life is not burning inside your heart
go in the flower fields, lie down in the green grass
deepen your hands în the black earth,
squeeze its juices,
let it drain through your fingers,
meet the sun rising, let it be your guiding light
flow with the waves of the sea, give a hug to someone
and dream, dream, dream ...

After,

if we are tempted, We can try again,
if help is needed, We can help,
We can share, if the heart opens for sharing,
After,
if we are tempted, We can try one more time

all We do here is try ...

on that day
she performed the dance
in a mortal silence

lustful intensity,

the unusual
exit with the back
was hiding her face
without any wave of hope,
the eyes
where
seeking consolation,
her spine
became alive
like a tempting serpent,
arms
were wavy wings
a cry for help,
legs outstretched
like two cello strings
rising
under the guidance
of internal forces,

the pirouettes
faked
with a great talent
the lack of courage,
as a sacrifice brought to the air
she kept doing
dozens of rotations
as if
the body
was anointed
with the dark air,

then,

it fell into its arms
like a wet coat,

every movement
spoke
again and again
"I love you
and
I hate you",

sun rays
died
in a light
that bowed obediently
under  the public eyes
riveted
like a forest
of frozen trees,
waiting for
what's next

although
we have eyes
and
it is said
"the eyes make the mind",
in this life
we don't really see no one,

absorbed by ourselves
we notice the others
only then
when their weaknesses catch our eyes,

vanity,
fear, - is a cloudy glass
through which we look at those around us,

rarely,
here and there
two people
undress in the fire of love
burning the blurry layers,

- in the light of the fire
empty hearts can see
the nakedness of the newborn.

the onion in father's hands didn't have time to cry,
with his fist punched it on the corner of the table, spread salt and
ate it with sheep's cheese,
(like the builders of the pyramids, my dad was paid in onions)

the onion in my mother's hands was sweet and made many leaves,
spring after spring she shared it throughout the village,
people were wondering: how does not bring tears,


every time I have an onion in my hand I think,
to clean it with my hands,
cut it with a knife, or
punch it with a fist,

the onion in my hands
is waiting

as I go up and down the stairs,
the rain stops abruptly as if struck by lightning,
the breath of spring deflowers my lungs,
I see two eyes bathing in the outpouring of sounds,
the chirping of birds snatches my mind,
pulls it on a string,
- the thought
sits on the lilac leaves,

I cling to everything that gets in my way,
I feel like then
when I was drowning in the pond at the far end of the village
hanging from a willow branch
at the bottom of the water, I hear your voice,
you were whispering:
"breathe, breathe, move your hands
move your legs,
it will come, it will come "

with the tightness of my heart, I take my head out of the water,
expire water,
for the rest of my life, I stay away from thirst,

at times

I prefer to be a sauerkraut
or dilute like a mercaptan
which passes through its own volume of air,
raising its value to an acceptable limit,

I search,
I give myself time,

I end up in a world of smells,
lichen, moss scent the forest
without losing patience
or weight,
lazy molecules (arouse my envy),
- little magicians on stones,
faithful masters of the forest boulders,
a carpet of green moss
I will be,
without blood in the veins,
without flowers,

today I will be
a moss that absorbs all the moisture from the rain
until I get over my own invisibility.

in a drop of honey. meant to be. to be lost.
although. it seems. the moment has passed.
in reunion. the candour of the words touches our breath.
there are not many thoughts to see.
the fateful meeting. shared without being.
during another equally fateful meeting.

you're right. i still wonder where you are.
from whose sleep you are born in blue mornings.
flowing appearance disguised in the bird thrill.

the green eyes. thirsty eyes want you
- greedy seekers for physical existence.
while the heart is a master on the other side of the hours and days.
piling them against the walls of fleeting sleep.

a memento. about how far we have come to forget.
and how much we hold on. on the line of the palms. deviations from the sun's rays. forced into curves of smiles. what breaks the skin. in the flesh. i'm not alone. when it hurts. the gates of heaven open the perplexity.

in bewilderment you remind me. who am i.

Halfway between past and future,
Life and death, singularity and universality,
The eye is looking through the clepsydra of time,
The Absolut,
- I am the only one twisting the strings of conflux,
The Eternal tells,
-All things from today and tomorrow already happened,
It is all in vain, don't even  bother,
There are even memories of
The worlds that haven't been born yet,

Tying to suspend time,
Why?
When the days and nights are unchanged
From the beginning of the world.

you swim, as if you were an amphibious man,
you catch her, the fire ignites,
she burns like a good lye wood,
the salt and ashes  sleep  between your fingers,
a Fairy brings the spring water to your gate,
you sip  from her palms
(with a thirst of a fish drowned in its own brine)

The fairy puts words on your lips,
calls you by name, you reach the shore,
with  eyes, wide opened you  look in the dream book,
you realize, - there is no escape
big nuisance, "I'm touched by a drop of wax"
you'll never be what you used to be
the rain takes a cold shower on you

You run outside and sit on the roadside bench,
Finally,
You see how little John and Mary play in the rain puddle with a paper boat.

they are invisible
there are always bridges
across the chasm,

Your memories will always be the treasure of your soul,
Good, less good, light as the sun's rays
Or heavy as a well stones,
Protect your memories
And stop fighting for the man without a past,

Let the memories make you happy in the sadness of the day,
Today and tomorrow,
Do not chase them away like fierce enemies,
How to live in a world without a past,
How to lose the love for what we lived,
And the pain we felt,

Let them caress your soul like a feather in a dream,
When only the stones see you and the dogs boo you,
And the knot tightens in your throat,
At times, memories are the only one soothing you,

And the only one calling for hope at the table of pain,
And the only one calling  the desire in the bed of love,
And the only one that fight as can fight.

that's right, I like rats.
I like them because they're not fussy
They don't turn their nose and they eat anything:
they don”t wonder if it's healthy, organic, ...

- They're not like moths either,
eating only furs, wool, natural silk,
rats eat plastic or chew gum,
the incisors grind
without grinding their teeth
during the day,
or at night,

- they adapt  easily in any home,
it doesn't have to be luxurious,
in the country or in the city,

- when moving to a new home
the first thing they do, - they multiply as quickly as possible,
conquering new territories,… they are many, "where there are many… there are many"

- I really admire rat women,
after giving birth seven times a year, the males abandon them
without leaving a note, a letter or alimony,
and they become  strong, durable, ready for the hole life,

- I also admire the intelligence of the rat male
they understood well how not to turn nature into whining,
"what doesn't **** you strengthens you"

- it is fascinating how the large one are the heads on sewers and basements,
and the little one are the bosses on ceilings and roofs,

- roof rats are named climbers,
astrologers, looking at the stars and moon,
writing poems,
composing music,
cooking like Ratatouille,  climbing,
climbing now, as you read,
climbing on the window of your room,

this is it, not my fault that I like rats
because they're not fussy,…

for each seed growing in a strong tree,
half a million other seeds will bite the dust,
except, to taste the dust they must believe  in the power of usefulness,

- unable to think that they will never germinate
they let themselves be carried away by exotic dreams:
dreaming of being nibbled by sparrows, washed by rain,
smelled, chewed by squirrels, beaten by hot-cold winds,
swaying in foamy waves,
touched by a second chance,
than
rotten in the mud under a tree,  be it a strong tree, who cares,
in other words, about a vigorous tree when you are a survival  arch,
canopy
arched up to the white canvases.

our dying kiss
two babies were born
with flying wings

in a world of glitter and tinsel
we are two visions of mori butterflies,
whose larvae eat the darkness of the night
like a white mulberry tree, leaving holes of light
on the forgotten silky roads.

Today I want to draw you
(Yes, I can draw you. It's all about starting.)

With the black pencil, I draw a cross on the white,
I cut the white, you're done, you're not white,
You would have been a bride dressed in white,
but you are not,
Then I wonder, what another colour,
I jump joyfully and choose the yellow pencil,

I draw your eyes with yellow, you start shouting at me,
The black cross is cutting the white of the paper
from one end to the other,
again, you are screaming out your lungs,
your screaming energizes the colour,
yellow comes out on the lips, on the nose,
it brightens the thickness of the eyes.

The room is full of golden light
fighting with monochromatic egotism.

Your yellow is absorbed in me,
I become a dandelion that draws you în autumn leaves,
jasmine, chrysanthemums, butterflies, bees,
all small insects invade the room, the paper,
my eyes enter your eyes.

You scream at me ”stop! it hurts”

Greedily I consume all the yellow from the sun,
You keep screaming at me  ”do not **** me in flowers”
I  get more excited
and I move with the joy of a child who discovered the pleasure of scribbling,

The yellow from the drawing grows your head big like an asteraceae,
I start seeing a smoky red, invasively yellow navigates towards red,
red is growing in an orange,

The orange rolls under the golden layer, it touches the cross.
The cross gives birth to multicoloured roads,
gardens and orange orchards are growing  from the desire to shape your face,

You stopped shouting. I sketch your profile.
With a husky voice, you ask me if I can draw an orange,
I draw an orange.
Tell me, who doesn't like oranges.

the fruit of their few
joyful days together

it stops in the heat of the day and picks your wildflowers.
it's coming. it certainly comes. out of the world. ones.
white moths will flutter their wings at your years
"if you want. come to dinner. we”ll be us ”

for fear of another step back. every second asks incessantly
"what could have happened"
the eyes remained fix on that crucifix.
chain hanging on the rearview mirror "

a heart that splits in the rain.

- it hurts ... but no ... I can't open the door.
"let's run. run with me. now"
one last look disappears in the flood of rain.
*
it can hit. anyone. anywhere. anytime.
in silence ... keep your hand on the door handle.
if not. we can say "it was the tyranny of time"

next to her
and looked at her,
- i thought, - a mound with a soul
that I could smell,

smelled like a wolf near the deer

i could see her with my own mind
as she was in the light of the day,
beautiful as she was and overly attractive.

Aren't you sleeping?

I heard her.

I had no air

I want your eyes,
I want them,
If I can't have your eyes,
Will I ever have your ears,

I want your thoughts,
I want them,
if I can't have your thoughts,
Will I ever have your heart,

I want to keep you close
I want you,
if I can't keep you away,
Will I ever keep you close?

to find a balance between the feeling of uselessness
and that of the need to fight,
between the certainty of inevitable failure
and the inevitable imperative,

your words sway in me
as in a hammock between two trees
embracing their roots
far away from the eyes of the world,
the leaves fluttering in the wind
like two lovers disinterested in kissing,
pale grass longing near the trunk,
waiting for the caressing rain, and me,
trembling like a rabbit at every word you say.

Do you want to know how Brave you are?
Then,
Be curious to know your vulnerabilities.

Courage
is directly proportional to your weaknesses,

no matter the severity of the drama,
the severity of the fall, be dignified, as a buen maestro,
walk with dignity through the film of your own drama,

for that sort of entertainment, you will need to give up on something,
  lie down on the floor and respiro,  respiro,  respiro …
more respiro,
                       floating
letting go,
let it flow ... for your own soul,
for your own soul drama is honey,
drama is money
be dignified, you are a Star

It is snowing today with Crumbs of bread,
the Crumbs pass through the air,
fall, and only where they do not fall,
and only who does not nibble on them,
every day a flock of birds flies
around a Crumb of bread, an anthill feeds,
*
There were so many of us around the table,
like giants in drops of blood,
my mother didn't scold us
if the Crumbs fell on the floor, rather
a sister or brother pointed the finger:
you have made Crambs, it falls from you,
not from me, from you, see how you scatter,
- I just swept around the house,

My mother knew how to calm us down:
"The Crumbs come to our house from heaven,
grandparents, grandmothers ask to be remembered
my dear children, it's a great pity to quarrel
or blame each other when you eat at the table,
- you know, we, people whatever place we pass
we leave behind us Crumbs,
you better call the birds to nibble at will,
and let the Crumbs also make wings.

we float freely unhindered by anyone,
only the air reaches our origin,
  - a root of a gnawed mushroom and mould plant,
- a meat animal devoured by parasites claiming white fame,

despite  existent poetic hunger haunted by virtual air,
all that brings us closer is the greed to smell each other's freedom, -

after glass wool walls (steklovata)
oil emissions enter our pores,
burn the eyeball, the words of a language,
other languages, cogitation, hesitation,
we survive in the form of particles,
biogenic dust,
finally,
free under the sun

My Dear,

How do you want me to write you?
- in the fire, on the edge of a knife,
or rolling in penguin feathers,

Do you remember those times?
- writing me with  big bird feathers,

Do not mind me,
I have enough crazy thoughts today,
an idea came to my mind,
- to learn all the tricks in the art of beggary,
Do you think it would make a difference?

Could I be the best beggar in all world,
it would be enough for me to have your mercy,
squatting all hungry in cold, freezing weather,
thirsty and sick laying down on the street corner,
hunched like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame,
or if I cut off my hands, my feet, pulling out my eyes,
if I couldn't, - If I could not,
does that mean I can't have you,

Don't pay any attention to what I say,
plus, I messed up the days,
I thought it was Friday
and maybe if I learn this art I'm talking about
your heart lets you visit me tonight,
so we can touch with our eyes, with our lips,

- better ignore me as the last beggar in the world,
ignore me as a gentleman who knows what he wants from life
and knows how to easily handle a cane and a hat in front of a street mendicant,

And yet,
I think if you were a beautiful young girl and I would be the miserable beggar,
would I succeed in winning her heart,
kiss her lips with the flattery of humility,
touch her ******* with my hands trembling from the disease of begging,
crawling at her feet and kiss them with the passion of a blind cadger,

If God came to test my talent and I would pass,
Would you receive it? - would you accept everything that was left in me,
and I, approved by the one above, to be happy with what is left in you,

Would it make a difference? - would it,

it is a shadow

of the tree
dark lighting
at the zenith of the day, tasting
the sweat on man”s forehead

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

of grass
opaque existence
angle of light
in the calmness of the earth

the child of the sun
it is a shadow, silently
following the man
to the water spring
in the valley of springs,

the mother sun
quenches its thirst
with the tears of the earth,

the child of the sun
it is a shadow

the body of the world dies slowly under the blue sky,
- ants are also in competition with death,
they recycle their ***** in plastic bags,
sunflower seeds chew their own shell,
the sun dies slowly on terra”s body pierced by white worms.

-  it was as if we were dressed in shmattes,
hungry and broken,
sometimes from pain, other times from joy,
so hungry
that we began to must each other's blood
scratching our tongues with tufts of straw,
as if we cleaned our impenetrable
like you would  clean the blackburn from the bottom of a shepherd's cauldron,

- we were also surrounded by fire pits,
the tongues of the flames touched you as if they tasted pink salt,
as sheep do it in the winter,
I could see haystacks burning in your eyes,
people lined up with buckets of water
they handed the buckets from hand to hand to  extinguish the fire,
some white birds were drinking the blood from  your lips,

- then the tongues of fire fled from the waters and harnessed  my eyes
they whipped at them,
shouts, screams, cries, children's laughter,
whinny horses, spreading sounds
until we woke up built-in two shores that were sinking at the bottom of the water.

it's sad. but happy.
lonely. but not the only one,
a spark of calmness. but a blister of days.
light waiting for the ****** night.
the joy of. what also grows life. to be meaningless.

that I've died so many times
my body has forgotten how is to be ash,
ordinary mortals fill me with jealousy (of the gods
and those who were trying to test the hemispheres of death
they couldn't find out much,
they failed,
accusing me of being a fanatic captivated by the talent of dying,
- a madwoman running after extinctions,

I recognize,
death seems to be a joke that you cannot compare with the ecstasy in the ***** of love, nor with the light on the buds of the *******,

rounded ivory *******,
lips salty as tears,
everything burns
It burns in the fire,
It burns until you start breathing;
in you, in others, in the first cry, kiss,…
breathing  until you wake up,

in death,
as in life, we ​​are so visible,
and so invisible
since we were born,
and since we died,
our body moves through other bodies,
as the green moves through the leaves of a forest
and I breathe you like a green,

when I last died all that was left was one breath
which in the absence of a body infiltrates inside other bodies,

Indeed, when you breathe the walls of the heart emit light signals,
  I breathe you carefully, like a newborn
on whose face radiates a playful laugh,
apply small prana breathing techniques
(I hope you don't mind)

the entrances and exits of your chest are green paths,
without a way in or a way out to allow promises in the movement of love,
you talk about standing fixed in love, why? love is movement,
frozen love  is not even death, but a wall waiting to be torn down
even after a thousand years of waiting

I breathe through your blood; with thought, with soul, with eyes, with hands,
I run with my lips, I breathe you,
It's the unthought that breathes you in abundance
and above love, and that which I think.

I climb trees at night
with my hands,
eyes,
my soul,
with my lips,
and I pick the green leaves one by one,
one by one,
my hands become so small,
or, suddenly
they grow so big,
and so long
that I can't see them,
or I see them too well,
or, I feel them picking the little green leaves
and putting them in a sac that is attached to my body,
my shoulders,
chest,
breath,
holding tight
breathing
until I climb soft branches,
or I reach trees with big heavy branches,
where I stop and eat jam,
sweet jam
made from little leaves,
like a baby, I cover my head with leaves,
I dance in green leaves,
and  I jump in yellow leaves that ones were green leaves,
I am an old man that holds a green leaf în between his tongue and thees and sings from a Greenleaf,

I climb trees at night
as if I am swimming up in the sun rays,
I see little leaves with the little names written on them,

I climb trees at night
and it is in that night I wake up with no pain,
No tears, No regrets, No resentments,
In that night I wake up with a smile on my face,
like a newborn that climbs trees at night,

I never stopped climbing trees at night,
but last night I was climbing on Everest,

you nestling in my heart, insatiable thief, childish sigh,

you make me drunk with your lusts that suspend the moment,

you write, … write, … you listen, - the gramophone sings,

under the waltz of roses, I laugh, - I dance - I float - I fly like a bee

I gather you from thorns, from flowers, in the sea breeze I caress you,

I  absorb the honey of your thoughts, I embrace you, I embrace you

I embrace you I embrace you I embrace you… windy breeze,

we float, in the unknown light we die we die

we die, … we die dancing in live poetry, untamed light

you nestling in my heart, and then you make me cry.