I rain on your right nipple / Gocho Versolari, poet


I see myself raining on my things.
The smooth bed,
the stove,
the cycle of hours
that mix in the sun
and to the dust that illuminate the windows
When I spill on you
the rain is shaked,
it turns red
and blushes dreamies lames.
Neon pieces
they dissolve in the hair of the afternoon.
When the rain reach your right nipple,
will take the color of the sky
in the late summer afternoon;
when the gloomy silences leave
and only fullness remains
loaded with glares and bread.
You lie on the bed
that twilight of your nakedness
gives us;
we will rain in chorus
between clouds of orgasms and wallflowers;
we’ll snow later
silver plateds
On the tender months of the coming years.
That do not return.
That are leaving.



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