The Morning After Pill Pmt

Tender Eyelid

elegance of so many images that encloses a single "we",
ephemeral word
ephemeral thoughts,
thought in your eyes, eternal. There will be a footprint

early

between your fingers that bear my name, and a path
yours in my hands
to stroll through the sky,
to point out to the stars,
to dazzle me with your flight. In a plain outer

awaits me your smile ...

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Already the rain stopped and it was cold
as ax.
Where there is what is poetry longs

imagine that anything is possible ...
Then the rain stopped, but I had
poetry,
had lines and memories,
hills, endless water, cold
bid
true that from the depths of dream
universe of universes.
So, today at least
if there is cold and there is poetry, there is no way
flesh, blood, no way of love
cadaveric
there
strange vacant look in my own eyes, my eyes
being, born my eyes.

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It beats the end of the story

that already had its final

that is history.

empty words,

whole paragraphs that say nothing,

elegant verbiage that you just invoked.

remember a moment

that existed a thousand times in my head.

dreams flutter, soar like

,

want

transcend beyond the dark day and night in clarity.

mouth is

rope is that smokes, you do smoke, triggering

silence full of life,

tripping on the night of the echoes,

of memories of what will be ...

For moments and no body,

at times there is only spirit, a sea

turns green in these pearls, these pearls

live, lovers.

The night wants to give birth

day on my birthday ...

The night wants to give birth to the artist,

any day, any night, in the vastness

living unstoppable in this atom from the sun.

Bernabe Jiron

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There is a ladder to the top of your laughter,
but I do not know where,
not know if the love.
there a common denominator for all aspects

cycle of love, news
always,
the cadence of music
that surrounds me. A tight


balances we balance our love, we do not

fall sustained by the encounter.
There are voices that are always the same
if the required cold.
There is a dream that keeps us

our sleep when the routine tries husked
.
projects are personally
plural (I call you if there
your name unknown).

There is a heart that beats a "we"
although we cover
loneliness.
There is salvation in the deep night

to
give me as a woman, mind,
like everything else in an apparent nothing. There is an infinite fire

behind your eyes,
I see, I know,
going to consume it, I know ...

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Bernabe Jiron

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tiled

















were drowned drowned in heaven
particles that come from distant millennia
to save her from despair. Because

feelings either recycled or destroyed, can

inmunizarte of mourning or to just kill you inside.
I soaked night, I soaked
transgression
drench me sound, I become a melody
cataract
extra-terrestrial lava diamond

leaving blind, forgotten

crystal oasis where I become words.
devolved into
times where Gods ruled and return
as wind
to intoxicate your soul little by little.
soon be erased
dark shadows, the drowned

itself creates new utopias.