There is a rose at sunset,
a petal in the light of lovers
wounded by thorns and words.
A fragrance in every mouth,
the verb to be of beauty
and drooping eyelids kissing.
is understood, then, that the bodies
write one in another memory,
verse
untiring in a scratch anything pure.
Heaven off his miseries with care, down to hell
thermometers and time takes a breath on the pillow. Rain
a petal at night.
is love,
the exact name of things.
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