let me touch you with my words
for my hands lie limp as empty gloves
let my words stroke your hair
slide down your back
and tickle your belly
for my hands, light and free flying as bricks
ignore my wishes and stubbornly refuse to carry out my quietest desires
let my words enter your mind
bearing torches
admit them willingly into your being
so they may caress yo gently
within
3 comentarios:
Transient memory.
If a fine
leaf appears
in the heart
of the country
I can see, near
a glimmer, a
delicate white
dream.
Francesco Sinibaldi
Le pas du sonnet.
Le ciel limpide
est comme
la chanson
qui décrit
la lumière
d'un oiseau
solitaire.
Francesco Sinibaldi
Una rosa silenciosa.
En la ternura
del sueño la
hierba mojada
parece un
susurro en
el llanto del
sol.
Francesco Sinibaldi
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