Intensities

The city rises. The sun rises. Only the Summer is the supreme reality.

There's no way out from the fire whenever the first birds the very first birds fall from those horses of sun
I wish I could name it my ocean
my intimate ocean and make it obey me as I do with my arms broken or not by the climbing effort to touch the center of your motion
I wish the sun could be like some parts of our bodies with positive fever and inner sense
Take the sun as an arm of mine and of yours and waists of ours supremely windy and much more in love than all future animals. The bodies of ours should be raising the sun without this matter this massive waves of

you can and cannot tell the truth when the skin burns over certain stones

every instant is a different city and summer going on too high already tomorrom I knew in advance you were of the day I was of the night and the realm of flying horses was our veins veins flowing unforgettable sailing unforgettable off the green
veins of ours and horses like positive fever too entangled before the silence could be otherwise. I mean Reality: the Summer otherwise and those horses like those emotions both together open the circles of stones and slopes too naked to resist the sun the unity of its face calling that classical madness upon us blessing like a green god singing the possibility of a city or a garden otherwise in every apartment and pound of human flesh
I can and cannot read your letters your hands your hanwriting I admire my bounds of sense
and the sun was the reality the easiest voice crying for mummy and those breasts otherwise than hunger and thirst
Too much is not enough for my dying for. It's time of waters and cycles. I wish I could be the mouth where a wound of sun begins and blows three times everytime I wish.

you can and cannot refuse these roses. too red and not enough for dying for. instantly.

rotations of nothing. summer in the city. too sunny and not yet the intensities capable of that lightening with which against which your body was the youngest volcanoes.

I wish I could love the city: your Summer raising the suns of your springs.
The place of the body is the horse the very horse