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A THIMBLE

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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PETAL

I keep a cardboard box in a letter yellowish
third
a rubber bite, some photos and thimble
forgotten in a desk.
is inevitable. Young
The smell of this case has reminded me

fate of loves rusty, withered
like the petal of a book,
as life itself ... Your kiss


orange thimble fell in my memory.