Blades Of Breath

Blades of breath cut
The satin silence
Of a grey summer afternoon.

My plea
Will be
Of steel and wax.

From the spyhole of your navel
I observe
Corpses of dreams
And in your chest
As behind a door I listen
To the usual sobbing
Of the heart.

I wish that
We two would be
Slaves to a unique heartbeat
And that the thin velvet of your skin
Would cover completely
My disillusioned hopes
And that beyond every chameleon-like misunderstanding
The pools of our pupils
Would get polluted:
tar in limpid lakes.

If only, kissing your nails,
I could swallow the scratches,
the scars of the deceptions.

The tango of your desertion
Pressures my temples
But I don’t have the strenght
To spin anymore:
your freedom mutilates my dance.

From “La carne del tiempo”(transl. “The flesh of time”) (Bogotà, 2002)