After a long hiatus, I open the windows of this blog unattended and air their rooms in order to look out the network and share with you information and poetry.
I apologize to those who, tired of waiting for a new post, have continued to visit this wilderness and to sign even a message of encouragement. Thanks for encouraging me to unseal the blog and get back on track.
And to celebrate that event, an old text salvaged the hard drive with the title "Responsorial Psalm"
I came back to smell you at night, when the poor are accommodated in their cardboard boxes and the tears flow through the sea and the culverts and red lips.
I returned to my fill of questions and scratching your eyes to break your heart with a gray shoe he was robbed on Thursday a question more and picnic alone in the evening or never.
I came back to hurt the memories and kindle in your skin with pins, to order the night traffic. To climb the edge of the cold and calculating your dreams.
I'm back with your shadow hand to invite you to film to love, to be with you at a zebra crossing and embrace without haste and without words.
I returned to enter your madness, to rub your body with mine to invent the fire, to look at you watch and hid like a thief.
I'm back with the moon in his pocket to make a poem to the measure. To open the seams of your wound and sneak, perhaps, in your silence.
I came back to talk of men to wander again and again to enter the depths of your dreams with little oxygen and finding a pearl in your name.
I came back to burn in your attic, when the sun blinds and spill the yolk and caramel bathe, to touch us with the rush of children smoking cigarettes on the sly and guess your cotton panties.
I returned to confess that I love you like a tree, making my sadness in your wardrobe, to tell you a plan for death, camping forever in your future and dance like a bird in the rain.
I become like the sun on the crops which strives to brown sunflowers, as the swallows return also, as the waves become indecisive, and again love and the boomerang.
I returned to my fill of questions and scratching your eyes to break your heart with a gray shoe he was robbed on Thursday a question more and picnic alone in the evening or never.
I came back to hurt the memories and kindle in your skin with pins, to order the night traffic. To climb the edge of the cold and calculating your dreams.
I'm back with your shadow hand to invite you to film to love, to be with you at a zebra crossing and embrace without haste and without words.
I returned to enter your madness, to rub your body with mine to invent the fire, to look at you watch and hid like a thief.
I'm back with the moon in his pocket to make a poem to the measure. To open the seams of your wound and sneak, perhaps, in your silence.
I came back to talk of men to wander again and again to enter the depths of your dreams with little oxygen and finding a pearl in your name.
I came back to burn in your attic, when the sun blinds and spill the yolk and caramel bathe, to touch us with the rush of children smoking cigarettes on the sly and guess your cotton panties.
I returned to confess that I love you like a tree, making my sadness in your wardrobe, to tell you a plan for death, camping forever in your future and dance like a bird in the rain.
I become like the sun on the crops which strives to brown sunflowers, as the swallows return also, as the waves become indecisive, and again love and the boomerang.
I returned to the sea in the towel to save a letter and saliva, to devise a light in your custom, tickle in the back, to open an account with your kisses, to kick you in the eye drops to die with you.
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