My hands, which one day you caress,
which draw the contours of your face, squeeze
now eager to see you,
embers fanned
dozing in a midnight woven with clusters of violets and lilies
floating water between the legs.
Under a sky pregnant with storms,
suddenly dawns the morning of my laughter,
huddled between crisp with future hopes,
cast in the fiery crucible of fate,
giving back the sun of joy .
'll come back to me with clear eyes,
dyed in shimmering constellations with the neck
conceited by the love that you give up,
with mouth kisses and fragrant honeysuckle,
back to me with the short beam
and your hands and your legs and eyes and mouth,
will catch my torso which were eager ivy,
to take my whole, to live my sap,
to me as yours and that I will never be.
Dalianegra Mayte.
Renso Painting Castaneda Zevallos.
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