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free love poetry

era no para ese olor singular
no esté enojado con mí
no se aflija que encima
debajo del timón del guerrero
aunque soy poco como todas las pequeñas cosas
un cielo que nunca ha sabido el sol, la luna o las estrellas
cuando el viento trabaja contra nosotros en la obscuridad
quién nombrará el viento
viejo vino a beber
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
una mirada es solamente un rayo
estoy viejo y oculto
behold yo, en mi chiffon, gasa y malla

 



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