Monday, March 1, 2010

Alicia Torres

There is in men
an insatiable craving after heights.
They close their eyes and conjure
further delights, an earth less parched.
But, in their splendid innocence, they know nothing.
The sky is eternally blue, and we are beautiful.
But who in this place would declare
I love, I own,
The fruit is ripe, it is today's?
In this place we are all
forever on the side of desire.
Wings to fly to where?
We belong to nobody,
nobody is expecting us,
like an ornament we display.
The half-smile of another death.

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