Venido con mí, dije, y nadie sabía dónde, o cómo palpitó mi dolor, ningunos claveles o barcaroles para mí, sólo una herida que el amor había abierto.
Lo dije otra vez: Venido con mí, como si muriera, y nadie sierra la luna que sangró en mi boca o la sangre que se levantaron en el silencio. ¡Amor de O, ahora podemos olvidarnos de la estrella que tiene tales espinas!
Ése es porqué cuando oí su repetición de la voz venir con mí, era como si usted tuviera dejara flojamente la pena, el amor, la furia de un vino corcho-atrapado
el flooding de los géiseres profundamente adentro de su cámara acorazada: en mi boca sentía el gusto del fuego otra vez, de la sangre y de los claveles, de la roca y lo escaldo.
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