Doves nest under the roof of thundering zinc.
Rain leaks through resin, sand, red hollow bricks.
The facade had once been blue,
inlaid with aquamarines.
Feet chill on bare heels,
up a staircase of drift wood and staggering nails.
Moon burns the silhouette, while on the tip of toes,
you disappear behind a slamming door. I have the key.
A letter shines inside my pocket, four folding your name,
a flower drawn with an angel’s hair
and golden ink over a pentagram.
In another pocket: the pen, blood, the wounded finger.
Living on the waving entrails of the present,
inside white petals of warm bed’s bosoms, dense the night blossomed.
Hair tied to hair on the pillow, rocking the sifting sand at the bottom of the sea.
Lovers drowned in a coralline dream, shipwrecked on the white sands of illusions.
Fire, from our den filled
with smoke thick as water,
glass melting, red irons shouting out from charcoal walls.
No rush, we are embracing: tongue to lips, teeth biting teeth.
Fireman in black
scoops out remains,
with loaded spooning spades.
In a rain of sapphires, your blazing ashes fall upon mine.
© Javier Felix ALL RIGHTS RESERVED