Planters Cheese Curls

With a flower I announce that we are cursed

I'm a snake in the desert meditating
that has swallowed the keys to the gates of a garden of meat, meat
apple cores and food for centuries, to return
dragon made in the verses that are written in your mirror
with the blood of bulls screaming
that the battle is won if the eyes do not convey the presence, or appointing
hands the secret of shadow puppets in the womb
the girl you were at fourteen
crying for the emergence of a pimple on the forehead,
as an equestrian statue of pus, alone in the schoolyard.
you sign with a flower that you are cursed,
that I have no message to give my sex,
I am a brick in your wall semen
ice and if you ever were three Sometimes the goddess of my sleepless nights
was because we were alone under the sheets of a verse.
gunk will plant one on your navel
to grow there the tree of life,
and that their branches do not touch,
and its roots grab your guts, and
see that the fruit are detectors smoke.
rest in which finger the ring whose stone has the color of my eyes,
exactly the same,
if yours is one I ask you to undress me with the other
and stroked my back just to
chosen and hope to die in your arms in that moment of extreme narcissism.
before I would cross the moons of Saturn
and air whip my face with the whip of your looks
while waiting to discover a hidden horizon in which the road plunges into the ocean,
and salts after appointing naked, to name without your voice,
clapping to nothing, as do the bells,
kissing the forehead of silence, taking his hands with yours,
realizing they are two strangers with no kinship
the terror of being alone by always be
parentheses between a fetus and a corpse.
I, however, I have a doctorate in diamond,
bronze bust of snake
a head start, footer end point of a text from another, condemned
a rhyme and others
invades me through the pores as a perfume darkness.
I want to sit in a philosopher's stone does not
myself in the sea, to spit on the ground
and hope that my saliva was
sulfur and could finally pass the recording of your telephone answering
and morse code at least tell you that always took you back,
all your rings have a stone with the color of my eyes,
exactly the same,
and naked without knowing me in infinite parallel worlds,
and in those worlds touch me back,
and even though I never want die at that moment, I
and landing on the edge of oblivion not

Demon sitting "by Mikhail Aleksandrovich Vrubel

(Iza Iza Iza spent)