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"A poem is never finished, only abandoned."
if you climb silently into my skin
on a cold windy night...
Marielle grew up
in a slum and started work...
what i think of you is unprintable.
sometimes i think it is deeply unconscious...
forgive me but there are some days
in which the gods can't touch...
sometimes i'm out of my own flesh.
it is when i get lost between my bed...
Touch my most profound skin and I will call this love.And I will call you love.
It reaches through my skin and pierces the night saying: I am, I am , I am.
What is love but the verb that caught fire?
by Yakari Gabriel