As soon as you get used
to the lights on,
and his face adorns
my empty walls
you will cut off the hand
that undresses the oak
and the endless touch
and the sever conditions.
Will he know this?
Will he know?
Will he know?
Will he know that in the end
you didn't hunt out of hunger?
That in this eternal field
of lilies and wire
the night forgot the moon
and walked until late,
to find you chewing
muscle and fur?
Only one mark on your skin,
but on your soul, perhaps, thousands
although I wouldn't dare to say
that any of those was inflicted by me.
And if it never rains again,
When will you have the courage to choose
if you sleep without his eyes, or without me,
If you live without a scar or without roots?
And if on these streets
where you dragged me,
where so many winters
for springs you traded
I should have the misfortune
to stumble upon him,
I would apologize
just by seeing him
Would he know this?
Would he know?
Would he know?
Would he know that you are just
a burning bush?
And I am a dark water spring
wanting to caress you?
That, maybe, I did him a favor,
that, modesty aside,
it takes more water
than what he has to turn you off?
And the glass of his eyes
would be broken in suspense
and then, he would want to see
(or not)
And he would recognize the cancer
that he has carried on his bones,
and then, he would want to believe
(or not)
That, out of the seed he spat
I did grow a watermelon.
Then I would know
(or not)
if I'm allowed to be born,
if one day, the day will come
where you will be mine
or not.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
As soon as you get used
to the lights on,
and his face adorns
my empty walls
you will cut off the hand
that undresses the oak
and the endless touch
and the sever conditions.
Will he know this?
Will he know?
Will he know?
Will he know that in the end
you didn't hunt out of hunger?
That in this eternal field
of lilies and wire
the night forgot the moon
and walked until late,
to find you chewing
muscle and fur?
Only one mark on your skin,
but on your soul, perhaps, thousands
although I wouldn't dare to say
that any of those was inflicted by me.
And if it never rains again,
When will you have the courage to choose
if you sleep without his eyes, or without me,
If you live without a scar or without roots?
And if on these streets
where you dragged me,
where so many winters
for springs you traded
I should have the misfortune
to stumble upon him,
I would apologize
just by seeing him
Would he know this?
Would he know?
Would he know?
Would he know that you are just
a burning bush?
And I am a dark water spring
wanting to caress you?
That, maybe, I did him a favor,
that, modesty aside,
it takes more water
than what he has to turn you off?
And the glass of his eyes
would be broken in suspense
and then, he would want to see
(or not)
And he would recognize the cancer
that he has carried on his bones,
and then, he would want to believe
(or not)
That, out of the seed he spat
I did grow a watermelon.
Then I would know
(or not)
if I'm allowed to be born,
if one day, the day will come
where you will be mine
or not.
http://ono.pen.io/
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