I turn the page of the day, writing what I'm told by the motion of your eyelashes. the truthfulness of the dark.
I want proofs of darkness, want to drink the black wine: take my eyes and crush them.
A drop of night on your breast's tip: mysteries of the carnation.
Closing my eyes I open them inside your eyes.
Always awake on its garnet bed: your wet tongue.
There are fountains in the garden of your veins.
With a mask of blood I cross your thoughts blankly: amnesia guides me to the other side of life.
~ Octavio Paz
|
No comments:
Post a Comment