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I could swim in your oceanic eyes; But when you give me that look You lay dynamite on my iron skin And you open me like a wound: Spirit of fire that burns Like a blade of sunlight I sacrifice myself as I die Into you, you ancient name of fire; And your temper between the jaws In the abstract geometry you propose Lays me in an impassive torture And you load ghosts of yesterday Into Tomorrowland, My cry and the cries of the torturer. Be it the first dawn, The last dawn, We are bigger than the night But the dream of us fits on the bed, The bed of rain, The bed of storms, The liquidity of our bodies As the moon wakes and asks For our spirituality, Souls entwined, we tear the night apart; But we aren't always in the mood At the same time, Vehement bodies on invisible clocks We can't see ticking, You speak in Winter, I speak in Summer; Our words vanish like Syllables of vertigo; We are lost between the argument. For all the good and the bad I would make love with you At the precipice, Hanging at the cliff; To fall in love or fall to our death, Each is a timeless matter And through it all I Know that I am alive between The polar shifts.
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Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
On Our Good Days We Are Neruda,On Our Bad We Are Bukowski
I could swim in your oceanic eyes; But when you give me that look You lay dynamite on my iron skin And you open me like a wound: Spirit of fire that burns Like a blade of sunlight I sacrifice myself as I die Into you, you ancient name of fire; And your temper between the jaws In the abstract geometry you propose Lays me in an impassive torture And you load ghosts of yesterday Into Tomorrowland, My cry and the cries of the torturer. Be it the first dawn, The last dawn, We are bigger than the night But the dream of us fits on the bed, The bed of rain, The bed of storms, The liquidity of our bodies As the moon wakes and asks For our spirituality, Souls entwined, we tear the night apart; But we aren't always in the mood At the same time, Vehement bodies on invisible clocks We can't see ticking, You speak in Winter, I speak in Summer; Our words vanish like Syllables of vertigo; We are lost between the argument. For all the good and the bad I would make love with you At the precipice, Hanging at the cliff; To fall in love or fall to our death, Each is a timeless matter And through it all I Know that I am alive between The polar shifts.
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dedpoet
38/M
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 6:24 PM UTC
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