Saturday, June 27, 2009

Love Letter

To my love,

I couldn't bear to be rejected once more from your soft gaze, the hand's gentle caress against my hair. However,

I must send you this poem. This passion and urge. A need to fulfill. Otherwise, I shall die. I just know it.

A thousand Persian little horses fell asleep
in the plaza with moon of your forehead,
while through four nights I embraced
your waist, enemy of the snow.


To see you naked is to see the concern
of rain searching for a fragile waist,
or the feverish sea’s immense face,
not finding its own brightness.


Night approached us, with a full moon.
I began to cry, and you to laugh.
Your contempt was a god, and my whinings
a chain of doves and minutes.

Night left us. Crystal of pain
you wept for distant depths.
My sadness was a cluster of agonies,
over your fragile heart of sand.

Compliments all of Lorca. How I miss you. How I love you. How I do not exist in this world.

I am built like a river.

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