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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2014-01-08 | [Este texto, tienes que leerlo en english] |
in my man’s palm I lay my tired ear
and it’s like I can enter there completely sleeping eyes opened a wise child’s nap my primer book on my knees he draws the curtains slowly to prevent sunburns on my front wipes a bead of sweat with his fingers I simply don’t think at all because all that I ever asked him was just that round and small bed inside his left palm where all my dreams could die for real this man is not alive only his palm touches my temple my ankle my hip he draws them in broken lines while I’m still asleep eyes opened
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