hundred riddles to get the location of an empty box: that's the best of today's poetry. a senile hieroglyph. the cryptic of non sense. the lukewarm, lax, dead mystery. I pretend draw you in a drop of dew bare your soul centimeter to centimeter wet the bodies in bare parallels that touch in the harmony of the syllables that touch us being born in that same drop I pretend break the wind to hug you unmeasure silences of your skin on the thirsty skin of my mouth I pretend rest in the shadow channels of moaning touch you in the same verb from which you invoke me that one in the buds of that drop breaks between my fingers the one that seduces us the one that trembles on the daily petal that you wet and it wets me. I pretend dismember me in a single heartbeat of that drop sleep on the nakedness of your words before the sun drinks it in an instant before we run out of time at that very moment. I pretend have loved you as I pretend you love me poetry. Unique and unrepeatable, but not irreplaceable. Watch the rain: The droplets respond to gravity. Steam will rise tomorrow.