Cercador
Pobres
Un relat de: Ainhoa- Compartir:
De nit la suor m'envaeix
Els ulls oberts, l'aire viciat
L'espai dins del meu llit i les mans
busquen
recorren,
assalten el meu cos
Et busquen a cada racó,
Seguint el passos que
un dia
les teves empremtes dibuixaren
Pobres ingènues,
què perdudes sense els teus petons,
sense el camí humit
de la teva saliva.
Tan sols els queda l'intent
Pobres ingènues
Crit ofegat
Pell mullada
El coixí no em regala
ni aromes ni remors
l´Autor
24 Relats
36 Comentaris
28260 Lectures
Valoració de l'autor: 9.72
Biografia:
Barcelona, 26 Febrer 1976--------------------------------------------------------------------
A Charles Bukowski...
BULLET PROOF POET
(Tyla)
As the preacher stumbles from his castle of sin
And his vision gets distorted from the bottle within
But his mouth slurs out the words from a sober heart
They cut deep into open nerves then they tear you apart
This is the ballad of the bullet proof poet
This is the ballad, don't I know it
He gave Jesus tattoos and took the devil's soul
He got the angels drunk and gave them the gutter for a home
This is the ballad of the bullet proof poet
This is the ballad, don't I know it
He loved the most beautiful girl in the mist of wine
A last kiss through cigarette smoke then she quietly slipped of the edge of time
This is the ballad of the bullet proof poet
This is the ballad, don't I know it