Sunday word hunter: poetry and nonsense
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Calla
Callando, callando y en serie desdibujando…con un dedo unos labios, el fuego.
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Just a dream
I had a dream.And I wanted to kiss you.It wasn’t true.There’s not even you.
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Looking back
From the mirror,Water from the sky,Wrinkles and spots hidden to sight.A puddle can’t be so true, after all.It’s me and blue, white, blue behind. No one else but the ripples of time.No one else but my eyes looking back.I grew up fond of me.And the reflection did so too.I’ll sing I’m alive.On my own.Maybe the cat.
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Creer
Mierda.Otra vez,Solo con ser.Y la peor persona con quién importa.¿Qué hice?Creer.
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Broken… Still
No, don’t!You rascal.Jumpy all right.Over the table,From a higher further shelf.Pushed the bowl…Crash and it broke.Still…I love you so much.Now to pick the dry food up,you spilled over the floor.Still, I’ll hug you my love.
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Hurdle
Too high a hurdle?Fine.It’s not like giving up.More like ironing tough and tough.A happy bachelorette since you can’t dimension my life.Sex isn’t entitled to love.Yet at the end,Sex can be happily a goal.But you need to specify…So I can tell you bye and you find what is required. Hurdle
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Olvídate
Olvídate de mí.Olvídate de mí como te olvidas de respirar.Olvídate de mí como te olvidas del corazón,Compás de días por venir.Olvídate de mí hasta que algo perturbe el mundo y de pronto,Te des cuenta que hago falta.Olvídate.Sin marchas funébres ni aniversarios luctuosos. Simple y en la brillantez absoluta de la oscuridad.Un pequeño vacio que dejar atrás.
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Lascivious advice
Whisper twister,Your warm breath on my ear.Your eyes caress-slime on my breast.All I do is cover with wings,Things I can’t confess. Your wrinkles sparkle,And it burns inside.The horns amidst your locks,And I’d like to hold myself there….Covering with wings,The things I won’t tell.Ideas of furnace,Bad advice…. I can’t help to desire. Day after day,Your hooves crushing on leaves.Closer to the meadow,Splashing the creek.And I can’t tell but help,My chest wishes ahead.Oh bad advice,You shouldn’t murmur to Cupid.
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Tide
Thousand, hundred, maybe tens.I don’t know,I lost count.Tiny, sandy, sharpy.Is the sand under my feet wet at day?Or is it sinking my own weight?Not realizing when…Ah ah ah ah…Cold and wet.But I’m already…I’ve already got my feet in it.Am I further in?Or back to the untouched side?
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Nothing
I wrote.You answered.Simple, not pretense.It’s nothing I think.Expectation….
