You have the whole build up tension.
Your breathing is cut short,
and every nerve senses sharp.
The dancing of your lips.
Maybe even the chills if you're lucky.
The aftertaste they leave on your tongue.
And then it's just gone.
With the wind.
Not even a memory just
something that once happened to you.
YOU ARE READING
Cada cinco meses me acuerdo de vos y digo MIERDA
شِعرUna compilación de catarsis bilingüe. Dedicada a Nacha, que siempre me la segundea con mis escritos. Me obligo a escribir que es mi fan numero uno.
