that I've died so many times
my body has forgotten how is to be ash,
ordinary mortals fill me with jealousy (of the gods
and those who were trying to test the hemispheres of death
they couldn't find out much,
they failed,
accusing me of being a fanatic captivated by the talent of dying,
- a madwoman running after extinctions,
I recognize,
death seems to be a joke that you cannot compare with the ecstasy in the ***** of love, nor with the light on the buds of the *******,
rounded ivory *******,
lips salty as tears,
everything burns
It burns in the fire,
It burns until you start breathing;
in you, in others, in the first cry, kiss,…
breathing until you wake up,
in death,
as in life, we are so visible,
and so invisible
since we were born,
and since we died,
our body moves through other bodies,
as the green moves through the leaves of a forest
and I breathe you like a green,
when I last died all that was left was one breath
which in the absence of a body infiltrates inside other bodies,
Indeed, when you breathe the walls of the heart emit light signals,
I breathe you carefully, like a newborn
on whose face radiates a playful laugh,
apply small prana breathing techniques
(I hope you don't mind)
the entrances and exits of your chest are green paths,
without a way in or a way out to allow promises in the movement of love,
you talk about standing fixed in love, why? love is movement,
frozen love is not even death, but a wall waiting to be torn down
even after a thousand years of waiting
I breathe through your blood; with thought, with soul, with eyes, with hands,
I run with my lips, I breathe you,
It's the unthought that breathes you in abundance
and above love, and that which I think.
