it is your form
Lying asleep (on my pillow),
that pulls my soul
from my heart.
it is your breath
Heard faintly (over my rushing blood),
that fills my heart
with your soul.
it is your eyes
Seeing things (i cannot)
that beckons my approach
to your lips.
i am isolated in your kiss,
frozen in the exploration lengua
of all the words that are not
- because to start and end them
- would limit our infinity.
screaming at low volumes
