Love clamps itself
Leaving small gaps
With just enough spaces
Allowing you to taste
Your very own tongue
Category: Poetry
-
Táctil
There’s no such thing
As neatness
When it comes
To our minds
I breath
You flicker
Incalculable
Of course . .
-
To me . .
the world spins
ready to loose, and peel
comparable to a star
proudly moving through water
there is no equal
more beautiful
than her roseness at my feet
i admit here, i seek shelter
a shelter of brightness
when most of my most, is dark
cross high and unstrange
Mari Sánchez Cayuso 
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