the scribe

from the middle of things a naked woman rises
I sit her soles in the white towel

angels pass through my hands words that I want to say
but I drown them in ink
imitating the scribe imprisoned between syllables

I look at me
with how much love the wilderness cover it
with my sandy skin

dripping with dry wind among rocky bushes
how much love the nights hide between silky ankles
like a virgin on the verge sticking a candle
climbing the path woven among hills
to the catted horizon with a silver sword

destiny died beside me
like a flower in the open palms

yes
my eyes pierce the soft walls
between me and the slaked lime day
vegetation begins to cry

I look at her greedy and I'll feel her thin fingers
passing trough my thoughts

forgive that the poem ends in words
those words without life
but I try to get to you to live on my sincere

I swear that to remain around your heart
to hear you humming
to hear you breathing on my chest

PS

Love fills better life than reflections.