Snowfall, dewfall, nightfall
you are the flower that rises,
rises, from the isle of my sunken lips,
Wounded by a wandering dream,
Adrift in the glint
Of my grey, wet eyes
As if moths seamed to the thread
of your rose undressing
beneath the land of spring
adrift in a haze and abandoned slowly, suddenly
Somewhere between my silhouette
and your mouth something goes wailing
Of the childhood road peopled
with flowering kisses
And rustic echoes
I owned every star but your eyes
The universe is yours, but my heart is ours
And we are two moths
Braying, bankrupt of dreams
In the net of autumn,
A fall solitary
as if a stray dog
on inhospitable tongues
but
guided by the butterfly of your name:
Mariposa and its little wings
of laughter