Tags: Men
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Poetry for a man who escapes Because I don't see that thin hand slowly opens up cauta approaches my face and slowly gets concave to take its forms; instead all my life taking light poses and welcomes my cheek, and reopens spaceless of teche my are already bright skies. Have courage.
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The new man will be a man who will love me because I am so, full of doubt and contradictions. He will like my arms a little big, he will not see my cellulite on his legs, he will appreciate when I have smooth legs for wax but he will never see regrowth. He'll like my speeches and stay...
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My visions How the fury of the wind arrives and sweeps. Collect from the road the stale dust, fattened by the heavy smog, lifts it in napkins, transports it along with the paper, knocks it on the walls of the houses, collects the dead leaves, plastic bags, and drags them far, playing with the umbrellas of four...
