I feel gazelles running through my hands
they stop for a while.
The attractive gaze invites me to the tour.
I reject the proposal.
I only wait for the consummation of my cilice,
to leave the stumbles
and take the alabaster.
I don’t like the result
tearing the work to pieces is a mania.
Back to the creation and leave everything,
submissive, resigned to the opinions.
Tired of sculpting the alabaster, I wait for the consummation
to continue dreaming of African animals.
YOU ARE READING
When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
