the sun in your heart

I love your secrets cuz I don't really know 

them, mine are linked to the morning's bird that flew towards the peach sunset and are waving at you and the sun in your heart...my hands are holding your heart and squeezing it so it can reload its tank at the nearest heart station...I'll never stop pushing these buttons...

atmosFIERA

Esa mezcla de gases dentro de la cual nos movemos (no precisamente como peces en el agua) me ha acariciado esta tarde; levantó en protesta a todos y cada uno de los vellos que ahora asemejan un goloso tratamiento de acupuntura sobre mi piel y me dice al oído..."Tómame, dejame entrar e invadir todo tu cuerpo y taladrar en tu memoria para dejar, punsante, mi grafitti en la tuya testa; lame mi brisa, bebete hasta la embriaguez mis atardeceres, pero...agítame antes de usarme..."

SINGLE-SERVING BLUES

Single-serving morning sunshine pouring itself down the spitting-blurry window blinds anywhere.

Single-serving love making right out of the microwave oven and into the single-serving nest.

Right out of the package, come fresh ideas just cropped last year that will lead you into single-serving oblivion surrounded by chemicals that will keep them in shape.

Single-serving fun wrapped in wishing paper that looks so good, but feels much better when it’s ripped apart.

Single-serving fun

Single-serving oblivion

Single-serving sex

Single-serving sunshine

Single-serving life

Single-serving pain

How about a little torture, huh?

LATE = TOO EARLY

Late is too early when you don’t know how to breathe.

Questions become the food we eat.

The single thought of you stealing my tongue makes me want to rain all over you.

Life packed into Little bags willing to go deeper than life itself in the labrynth that keeps on asking 
“when am I going to be sure?”

Celebrations turn red in the land of vegetables.

IQ means nothing  when it comes to living the magnet of life coming true.

My best friend became time because he’s always offering me a change of face, that face that never tells me what happened before I wanted to know… 

Iris Doblado

Ay, Azul!, tu profunda y densa tristeza se emparenta con la blancura que cabalga tus olas en el mar para estrellarse con mamá; tal unión es sólo comparable con una voluptuosa cópula que, aunque habiendo comenzado con dulces tonos morados o incluso violetas, se violenta en estruendos de pasión escarlata que recorren los campos de la tierra de durazno desde lejos en evidente vestigio de fuego sabor a ansiedad cegadora que no se detiene a explicarse por qué sale el sol a doblarnos el iris y abofetearnos gentilmente desde su lecho cósmico para que sigamos fluyendo.