By now sometimes it is not possible to win except by falling, by now it is not possible to tremble between two beings, to touch the flower of the river: fibres of man come like needles, procedures, fragments, families of repulsive coral, torments and hard steps for winter carpets. Between lips and lips there are cities of great ash and moist summit, drops of when and how, vague comings and goings: between lips and lips as along a shore of sand and glass the wind passes. Therefore you are endless; gather me as though you were all solemnity, all made of night like a zone, until you are indistinguishable from the lines of time Advance into sweetness, come to my side until the fingery leaves of the violins have gone silent, until the mosses take root in the thunder, until from the pulse of hand and hand the roots descend. neruda
Posted on: Sat, 22 Jun 2013 07:19:53 +0000
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