Nothing in your hands
I do not know what to tell you
but they are the sailing waters
and the spontaneity of your feet
When the Sun and death
haunt my waking
in this table of carbon
lust the finger lifts
and you imagine me
undone by half
but the world turns
and its delights embark on the migration
to my eyes of plant
waiting for the time of morning bath
your feet revolve with the tenderness of the foam
they ride into the roof of my house
and read Peret
love comes
as a bug
While you are distracted with the mouth
and those lips that passionately
crash each other
the violence of the clouds
are my land

pain travels in front of us
I have pursued it in your breath
from the first ray that pounded
the Earth
in the awakening of the stones
and the birds
hunger appeared
in  the beautifully useless walks
through those avenues

While the snow created flakes
to unleash the fury of the fire
at your feet I settle
sweetly
bathed and satisfied