wounded

she's breaking rocks in a mist of high idioms or fortresses. the first ashes of crystal seem wounded. the potency of the blank hours. too sharp to be denied.

daylight will come. and it breathes the bird and the landscape in few minutes. ourselves rapidly.
if I remember the place where the wounds ripen. maybe the blood meditates. I touch the point of redness and shadow. a wound is good because it mixes fierce desires with nostalgias.
your skin submerged with the nouns. at dawn.
whenever a vessel sinks and accepts my storm. I abandon the resounding masks. and my knowledge of storms destroying the caress. otherwise. there is pain and verbs in the motionless narration. underneath. whenever. born of air and metaphors. you and I wait for warmth. Our gardens and breasts grow. immensely.
I become the seeming being of the future summer. you change the wheather. disclosed. derived from adjectives you do not recall at length.
you transform the most potential seeds of understanding. apotheosis in the skin. a summer's day from scratch. dissolved. as between two layers of skin. as if the access to meaning was a savage transparence. you are flowing and crying and breathing and speaking myself in the woods.

nakedness is not a boundary but the flammes. themselves. ourselves. vital origin. the stream of flammes where bathing must be.

suddenly the language by the sea differs from the extremest waves. sun should be the place. yet it depends. all depends. on the war that never sounds exactly like an evasion.

as the boundary releases a melody. the substance of abysmal afternoons speak of life. beyond the symbol. perhaps an interpretation of a round kiss. widely a solid a force. the lake of the kiss overflows our tongues. writing and tearing up the pages. the voice of cliffs. the redness of our tongues like winds.

at the edge of things we depart until the birds are our inner lamps and secret syllables. birds evading. birds breaking the major silence of metamorphosis.

this fear of ours is the water of the lake. fear of a null magnitude. you are my expressible air. out of nothing. it must be possible. must be. must be. fully possible and absolute.
solitude comes at daylight every morning. once. twice. repeatedly. like multiple rivers oscillating. you are my wild exception. over and over. the centre of time.

moons exceed my meanings. very fresh and fragile. the songs you are. in possession of possessed. the ease of love on a hill of confused illuminations.

not one sun within the iris could suffice. you are of perpetual fire the flesh in disequilibriu.m