Variation about your body at sunset / Gocho Versolari, poet


Dreams form a dune
that sometimes sits on our sternums
and prevents us from breathing
and to fly
and move us around the worlds
that in the fall of the cosmos
they fall like three yellow leaves.
It is in the instant,
without extension, without concept,
without body, without mass,
without pain
where you appear.
I see your bare feet
before dawn
painted them of red,
Your body does not stop creating
warm clouds,
over the tassel of my sex.
Then it will be the dance
of pleasure, of pain,
from sinking and emerging
over the steep forests of summer.
Then it will flood me
of this lukewarmness that emerges from your afternoon;
that death takes its daily turn
over the invisible fences
of the final sun.





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