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Have
you been knowing
Who the butler is?
The goblet of yours?
Or the letters of ours?
The poetry of ours?
Or the night of ours?
Or
the prolific rain of ours?
From the window we filch the desire of his,
We filch the very steps of his out of him,
We rend passers by
With the debate of ours,
And the laughter of mine,
And the kiss of ours
Who has donned the zest of rain.
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(6)
I’ve passed by the
shadow of yours
Deciphering the
letters of my missives.
(7)
Before the window,
I’ve passed by the
chair,
By my own dozing body,
Leaning against a
smile.
(8)
Peace be to our
shadows,
They Cross the planes,
They Join our
childhood,
They Sketch the plaits
of a little
Scowling girl,
Before the camera.
(9)
O My Lord!
Let my own moon
Pass over there
To write the sins
Of that little girl. |
(1)
Back we’ve come,
Scrubbing laneways
With the voice of
sweethearts,
While warming up the
darkness of the room.
(2)
Back we’ve come
To the genesis of
infatuation,
We make harbors out of
him.
From the mere warmth
thereof,
Mariners have grown
weary.
(3)
Back we’ve come
To the genesis of the
sea,
Out of which we
produce The plaits of the dream
To unweave in the face
of the sun.
(4)
Back we’ve come,
Mere vessels,
Dogged by a winter
Whispering by means of
the heart senses.
(5)
Back we’ve come
To the chamber of the
heart,
We upset the steps of
those crossing
Over there.
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