-Y que de tantos momentos deshechos en el pensamiento de ti? Y que de los sueños perdidos en tu imagen? Y cuantas palabras sin aliento an perdido fuerza en tu calor? Y por cuantas palpitaciones se apresura, a tu lado, mi corazon? para Q.
-“My heart is yours,” she says in almost a whisper, as if, it weren’t meant, as if, the words had found themselves standing already at her lips, perhaps, they had waited long, they had been there, not intended, but yearned for, invoked by desire, and not by the moment, not by the presence, now standing before her.
-quiero desvanecer y convertirme en lo que no es, el viento silencioso que solo se escucha al despertar adolorido y gritando sin voz en la madrugada obscura, aun cuando lo oscuro desaparece bajo el peso de la luz quiero que cada uña y celula de mi ser, sea derrumbada hasta llegar a ser ceniza, y de la ceniza hacer huellas de las que desaparecen al soplar el viento sin sonido quiero respirar frio y llenar mi cavidad congelar las pulsadas y los latidos de mi corazon
-yearning to fade and become that which is not; the silent wind discerned at waking in pain and screaming without a voice in the obscure dusk when the darkness disappears under the weight of light yearning for each nail and cell of my being, to collapse to its becoming ash and of the ash, to make prints the kind that disappear at the breath of the wind without sound yearning to breath in cold and fill my cavity congeal the pulses and the throbbing of my heart
-Waiting for your return, I sit here thinking of nothing else You’re like the morning dancing in the light of day And I want to go with you Be lost in all the wonder
-The upturned crystal filled with crimson as droplets fall, lucid memories trickle down leaving latent stains pale flesh cresting at the thought a quivering continues the remedy, smoke slowly evaporate bit by bit by bit someday perhaps, a smile
-Love is an echo, only the dust survives wind sweeps memory, its colors fade and crumble fingernails become dark, scratching to hold on ashen remnants of the possibility of being those moments of heart swells pulverized and scattered at a loss, the vibration echoes as the heart pumps dust and hope…
-There’s the fear, it clangs within releasing echoes, vibrations of the soul, reverberations of the self. The solitude of the garden, the still air, the clamoring of loss, the clamoring within. It’s the only sound left, on silent nights, in the room’s darkness, after you have left. It awakens the scratching, the mice, trying to eat through the walls. We’ve built this place together and I fight them off, to suffer no more loss.
– “If I loved you,” she says, “if I did, would it matter?” Her expression pained, her eyes growing red, the strain multiplying and spreading; first around the tiny iris, like red felt tip tracing an outline, and then turning the white a salmon pink. Her lips contort as she speaks, as she holds back emotion, as she holds back truth. It’s the bulging, it’s the emotion attempting to escape; bulging at the closure of her lips. It is like the shivering of the iron door as you try to keep out the storm. She looks away. That same jagged […]
-The soft breeze blowing unsettles grains carrying them away from their space Tumbling across and through and over, falling from their former place Sea salt air blows on them and slows them, chilling them and grounding them The cycle of crashing, the waves, the water beckons, drawing them near Each gust of sea borne breath, tempting the grains to continue Tempting them, to never return, as if they could, to where they were Each swell’s rise, shaking them, each with the frenzy of possibility