full evasion

desire is a pack of terrible wolves well anchored in my muscles. hungering for flesh.

and their forest is the disquiet body of mine beyond. the stream beyond. where the night becomes a wave of mine. empty sky and bursts of flames descending into ashes through crucial future veins.

my belief of mystery blows fresh clouds against the dilemma that opposes ecstasies to rivers. Let me have a thunderstorm like a distant infancy when the fruits lived together without snakes. they become women who enjoy wandering in the garden. smiling through warm breasts of milk and tears. they smile wawaiting for a different moment of the moon. at the height of fever, trembling, love. the world opens the future veins of the tragedy. and in its paralysis there is a rose pumping blood. a naked rose on a horse in pursuit.

you cannot eat the forest and the wolves and survive. three nights sleeping like a baby or a bull. I saw love denying room to the question I am.

a rose is a rose is a rose without place without bouquet. nothing but the denial and the inclination. night blossoms maybe. I love the shadows of the violent concept of Nothing. you are roses in the cold