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Literature Text
reality is holding my coward eyes
open wide with clamps of steel
I wear the heavy shades
the ones you need in Florida
or Himalayan snows
and yet my coward retinas burn
those hateful patterns
decay and death on the movie screens of mind
how I wish for selective blindness without consequence
how I wish for faultless folly
how I wish I could hold my head up high again
open wide with clamps of steel
I wear the heavy shades
the ones you need in Florida
or Himalayan snows
and yet my coward retinas burn
those hateful patterns
decay and death on the movie screens of mind
how I wish for selective blindness without consequence
how I wish for faultless folly
how I wish I could hold my head up high again
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Literature
Yours
Yours
Make me
Groan with delight
Hold tight my fantasy
Fight against all the shackles
Keep me balanced, the room's spinning
We forsake all others, forsake ourselves too
While sating our thirst, while feeding our hungers
We tie up loose ends around each other's collarbones
By breaking bones and rules and taking everything for granted
Can't stop hiding the images behind my eyes and memorizing them
Swirling the lust around, a wine taster savoring intimate flavors
Floating on blues and greens, absorbing your sensuality too
Bodies intertwined, come down from above my frame
Fasten your mouth to mine, breathing tandem
Pressed together, it's urgent
Literature
The Ballerina
She watches from backstage as her partner performs his variation. The stage lights seem to get brighter, and the space in the wings seem to close in. She can feel her heart beating faster. Her partner’s short solo seems to last an eternity. She flexes and points her feet as she waits. Finally the music stops. She closes her eyes. She can hear thunderous applause, but it sounds distant, like it’s coming from another world. She centers herself, preparing for the most important two minutes of her life: her first solo as prima ballerina. The applause seems to go on forever. She fears that she will always be overshadowed by her talent
Literature
Rombos
por Romy Lara
El aire gélido se coló en la habitación y alborotó los papeles minuciosamente acomodados en el escritorio. Tronándose los nudillos de la mano izquierda, Julio se incorporó y cerró la ventana de un golpe. Afuera el cielo se caía pedazo por pedazo. Reacomodó el desorden que se había hecho en su mesa de trabajo, colocando cada documento en su lugar: los de etiqueta amarilla en la carpeta amarilla, los marcados con verde en la papeleta verde y así consecutivamente con cuatro colores más.
Procedió a sacar un cuaderno de portadas negras de su
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Comments14
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Thoughtful, indeed...