Wounded Valentine

Can you see the wound I carry
from my throat to my heart?’
– ‘Three hundred red roses
your white shirt now carries.
Your blood stinks and oozes,
all around your scarlet sashes.
But I am no longer I,
nor is this house of mine, mine.’
– ‘Let me then, at least, climb up there,
up towards the high verandas.
Let me climb, let me climb there,
up towards the green verandas.
High verandas of the moonlight,
where I hear the sound of waters.’

Excerpt from “Romance Sonámbulo”, by Federico Garcia Lorca

 

Girl with Bird

Wounded Valentine

What if all that is left
unknown between us is
this light.

See how it lays upon
your soft navel
Bathing the skin
with oily glow.

I run my hand into your middle
And now we are washed asunder.
Suppose this is enough
To have Unknown.

Share the last of your bread
And I will pour the last wine
From my heart.

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About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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