jueves, 29 de agosto de 2013

Strawberries and cream.

Hace mucho que no publicaba en Calavera, y la culpa es enteramente mía. Otros proyectos me mantuvieron muy ocupados, pero bueno, hoy pude hacer tiempo y posteo este poema que escribí allá por el 2007.

We stain the sheets.
Poetry books below our pillow.
Eating strawberries and cream.
Strawberries and cream, and a bed.
Sometime we get dirty with cream,
but we knew how to lick ourselves well.

I remember, it was hard
to read Bukowski at the same time
I taste your neck.
Your insipid commentaries.
The untied paranoia.

Often we struggle
and the books were breaking.
Chunks of paper flying in the room.
We pick some randomly
and we assemble new poems
with words of others
of those whom we really love.

I used to like reading
Those chunks
that where stick in your ass.

Some other time, I wrote
Only once
With my other hande
I put the strawberries
in your mouth.

I do not remember if when
you were with me
I wrote something great.
Probably not.
But I had liked to.
As I also Had liked to
Write in your belly.
I never did...
Simply we remain there.
Having strawberries and cream.



No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario