Sleepy Roses

Cries through darkness from that hollow night reveal his weakness

Our garden started yawning below the blurred Sunset.

How profound and gentile is the weeping of the wet grass by the frozen rain.

A virgin evening wakes up from a dream delayed by the tremor of the Sun who fears going to sleep wondering about never raise up again.

Jealous Stars dance around blind clouds while the roses feel captured by a gloomy nightmare

Sleep is too heavy and each petal lies on the other.

Each spine is raised as a fence to never let out.

Each fragrance is wrapped with ray of light borrowed from the moon

Roses sing and dance in the breeze, and their dream is to awaken.

The day is so close and roses still sing in the dark.

They want to wake up but the light is hidden between the Sky cracks.

Everyone hides from the beauty of those sleepy roses.

The true poetry is the screaming roses, the light race and the Sun awakening.

The night runs away with his forbidden love and the stars follow them.

The Sun calls, and the roses open their petals.

What a joy to see the awakening of our roses, our dreams have finally come true!.







The voice breaks the air, makes easier breathing.

Every time I speak, the sound is shrouded by blind clouds.

Bold raindrops touch without consent my naked skin.

Single moles seek for partners in virgin places in your body.

Two distinct colors seem to appear below our dark shadows.

All your natural tattoos reveal a silent past which is afraid to merge with our present.

Each scar of yours howls to the red Moon praying for more time in your skin.

I am still waiting for becoming one of them.

Being part of the history of yours, every minute and second mixed in just a single moment.

This scene of us held by gravity and sustained by our marks, those that tremble with every star whisper.

I am still waiting for you to come and kiss every exhaled breath which becomes part of the deep air scars.

Your scars look for mine, they want to be one as I want to be one with you in every single manner over our drawn bodies.

You, me and our scars are the perfect picture for a distant love.

Our moles are not single anymore, they are part of our imperfections.





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