July 16, 2010
There are certain words like an old sweater that likes to wear even if it has neither form nor color. He is mellow and full, one would cower.
There are words that I love and cherish me with an incredible sweetness. Hiding them in the mysteries of unsuspected mysterious smiles
accomplices.
Like their heat when they reveal themselves to me like an orange sun behind a dune desert.
Like their freshness when torrential rains fall as indomitable. They dunk me until I have no choice but to laugh.
And joyous bursts the book is written,
word after word
Words of joy, living words
Words country lost
fallen angels, played on my sheet
A black ink from my pen inflexible. I write, you exist. You'll fly over, I will break the wings as you let me fly.
Forgive me.
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