Hot and wet woman: cyclone of April / Gocho Versolari, poet

 

Your nakedness
it fills me with pains
that fly through my blood
and they nest in my liver.
and the night brings flaps of your flesh
and suspends them on the round cormorant
of your skin.
From morning until twilight
there is a colossal dance
where you get closer and farther away,
in which I suspend myself on you
in the silent game
of appear and to hide.
Blue hummingbirds amass wishes
and there in the smooth night
we will roll holding each other to the point of orgasm.
I’ll take your hair
I will observe your madness loaded with horses
penetrating you
hot,
wet,
cyclone of april,
destructive,
febrile,
yellowish,
loaded with vultures and specters
of children and ofmonsters.
Ten orgasms. Maybe twenty
and then we lie motionless
while there in the sky
the energy falls on us
like rain without chaos,
without humidity.
Like a rain
tormented for silences.

 

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GOCHO VERSOLARI

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