Just one body,
wounded as light trapped
in liquid mirrors, where
thousands of butterfly skeletons
sleep, thirsty for shadow,
to cast a rough, immovable skin,
dreaming beautiful and come
from a depth unknown to me...

beaten as sorrow shakes
its mane of glass, imprisoned fast
in its own waters, useless
to silence the essence
behind mirrors, in the form
of light locked over the sound
of kisses and the beating of wings...

on the threshold of dream,
seams more fragile still, to feel
my flesh consume itself against
your burning, red in my veins,
just one body sealed in faith,
saturated by what silence
my clear reflection gives...

as now conquered, I come
from crossroads dark in shadow
for so long, long
to have crossed into you, I
in my body, wounded
by the flight of steel butterflies
beating the air, on fire...

I feel over my shoulders,
your wings, and the meeting
of skins made immaculate
by merging the form of flight,
the form of light, locked
in just one body,
long before there was a body
in the epoch of the soul. ....