“I hunger for your sleek laugh and your hands the color of a furious harvest.
I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.”― Pablo Neruda
* * * * *
Dust of broken sparkles
Strange silence drips over the fields with love
and as soon as I see how time curls
around scented flesh and sweaty curves,
bruised lips and skin let out fires
over ice cubs and jasmine oiled hands.
As soon as I become one with the whiteness
of the walls turning crimson, satin and mirrors speak
the language of silver fleur de-lys and ripe grapes.
You, the wind that makes the sunset glow,
and I, the first flower of the sunrise,
how can I keep you, how can you own me?
While we move under the music of illusions
and swear in the life of leftover senses,
the dust of broken sparkles sweeps the night.
© 2012 Broken Sparkles