Flesh/ María Calcaño

Flesh

spread the gasp

of your most beautiful sin:

you are like a garden

empty yourself

in the one that snaps

the golden tapestry of your bloom

docile

like creatures awaiting for god

as naked roses

the hundred disordered hairs

flesh… flesh of mine!

call intensely,

restless holder:

open!

you are like a garden

Digression III/ Yolanda Pantin

The language is left
but is hollow
The sound of loved words is left
but is noise
The pure silence of things is left
when they are
The man alone with the verb
and pure things in silence are left
without words

From Poemas del escritor (Fundarte, 1989).