March 3
I open my hand and look into other hands
sensations in perpetuity
to convey the warmth and flow like an angel
the gentle placidity
I met you I was on the brink
fearless, arrogant and in defiance of reason, thought that there
expected but only the thorns of the roses that invented
dug into my hands
nothing remains of the past the future is a total eclipse of the heart and the angel
no longer dances in the present of a poem maybe I should
fly
saved from death, not necessarily means to be alive