Post-midnight desire

Eros is bittersweet. over all skin.

infinite hunters after the same prey, obliged by Hunger.

Eros elopes with Madness and Secret. Bodies sing the trembling anguish of  Moon-beams. new fevers in the breast. night rains and overflows, like me, naked me, on the brink of flying and falling. Eros follows the hunters in me, naked me, infinite me. 

I protest in a sea of folly against the sleep of horses within some veins and fires. 

there is no hero for the poem. clouds stop and disagree in your red lips, groping the depths of Chaos, seeds of chaos and joy, crying the Melancholic skin. . . tears refuse horses in the mist of dances. 

where have you been, where are you going, Poem of Bittersweet Angst? 

more than silence, and solitude: Post-midnight Desire of groping the full intensity. . . why are there passions cutting flesh deeper than Life? in the beginning the whole tempest of flames, my wound. the alcohol of future aspires to the whole.

the alcohol of Eros burns now, my wound. . . only flesh knows the language of the infinite hunters in circles through veins and nerves.