The edge

By espacioreal | elespacioreal | 5 Mar 2021

on this side of the fictional animal that refracts
this not knowing whether or not it is a vital artery,
or how to name enamel divided into laziness:
art, diadem, how is it that the voracious voice was?
how the shadows of the day remain behind the sun,
the rage, the joy, the necessary condolences from a mouth
who never names me and calls me all the time:
is this and no other the precious scene of life,
The edge that gives love to steal it will be blue or gray.

Blog Poetry

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