The blonde, naked and blue beast / Gocho Versolari, poet

You leave the house blue, barefoot; your heels
they get lost in the ochava and give up
to hot bread and mashed potatoes
that I serve you in the mornings.
This golden dawn that sees you leave
is the blonde beast that Nietzche was talk about
or the nameless beast that Blake evoked.
From the quarries of the night
they emit their grunts,
their silent breads,
its brightness;
the sackcloth purples with which I will strike my neck,
my back that was once tender;
that now
It’s rough as your departure and it will be
in the first millennium
of the era that begins with your absence.
I read the letters when the morning
throws me birds in my face. I read the letters
They say you’ll come back.
You will be the last beast,
naked and beautiful as heaven
when the ages go out and distil
the last drops
of this cosmic melancholie
You will return barefoot. Your feet
will have collected eyes,
of the cosmic oceans,
of the stars that fade
when they stop shining for a moment.
In the hot June night
your feet will caress my sex
and they will overturn a blondo universe
in my violent erection,
In my blue orgasm.
Your plantas
they will catch on the last drops of space
and you will drink with each of your toes
the corner of the hours,
the thick worms of the day.
Let me hang from the moon; my hips
they will move in pendulum
Towards the faint mist of four.



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