Las máscaras no se distinguen
a mi vista.
Yo veo detrás,
adentro,
alrededor,
aparte
de la tapa
que te pones
encima de tu esencia.
Las apariencias engañan
pero yo no sé de ese juego.
Sólo sé de la verdad,
que se me expone
desde el interior
de ti
y de cada ser.
Y en tu ser
hay una luz que brilla,
una bondad sencilla,
que no me ha dejado
desde el momento en que la vi.
Y si tú quieres ocultar
tu pura belleza
de mi…
pues, mala suerte.
Que ya conozco
la divinidad
en ti.
I’m an open book
written in an ancient language
that few men understand.
But all I’m trying to say is,
“Please come take my hand.”
You’ll just know.
You’ll just…
know.
I finally know.
Intuition
like a lightning bolt,
like a realization
at the tip of my tongue
yet light-years away
and not composed of any words at all.
Reaching out to touch it,
my chest caves in
as I cross over dimensions
and break through magnetic fields.
Crushing. Imploding. Recoiling. Resounding.
The universe aligns
and I catch a glimpse
of a worm-hole
black-hole
holy grail of light.
If you open up the sun,
life as we know it
will end.
I catch my breath.
Yes.
This is it.
In the restless battle
between silence
and expression
the latter always wins me over.
Relentless attacks
break down my resolve
and the heart concedes
while my lips betray me.
If love is what we’re fighting for,
then I’m screaming
bloody
murder.
Our shields.
Our shells.
Our egocentric shelters,
protect us from
swords
predators
and storms.
But love is none of these,
so let down your guard.
For my part,
the armor is thrown to the ground.
I wield no weapons.
No poison,
no pistols,
no swords.
I am a harmless herbivore
just chasing after sunshine.
And I thought I caught a glimpse
of a sparkle in you
that was more than the shimmer
of your shining armor.
Let me see the man
behind the mask.
Let me love the heart
inside your haven.
But if I am not the one,
stab me quick,
while my armor’s down,
and let me bleed it out.
Otherwise I’ll always wonder
why my knight just walked away.
Kiss me
and you will feel
the passion that burns inside me.
For you.
For life.
For the sensation of lips
sliding
and gliding
and smoothing over worries,
making life
worth living
and love
worth giving
and everything inside me
pour forth onto your flesh.
You haven’t felt this yet.
But I promise
if you let me
you will understand
who I am.
You will comprehend
my magnitude
and realize
that the universe was born
in my blood
and nothing can stop us
once our lips collide.
If only you would let love inside.
I have answers
in my soul
that no one else knows.
But I want to share them with you.
I would teach you the lessons
that words cannot reveal
and only
lips
can feel
in the fever of themselves
and the union of their plea.
Kiss me.
You will see.
Who needs dressing
with such an exotic salad?
Fresh earth glides
right past my lips,
fat-free
but still
straight to my hips.
Come reap the ripe flesh
you have sown
into my garden.
Thoughts of love
sprouting like spring time
in the autumn
of a weary heart.
You will be my undoing.
My untouchable.
The undressing
to my salad.
What’s the shame in saying
I need love?
It takes a strong person
to give of themselves.
It doesn’t mean
you never fall apart.
It means you stand back up.
It means you stand for something.
And I do.
Yeah, I’m a little unsteady.
I stumble sometimes.
Ok, maybe more often than most.
But it’s only because
I carry this heavy heart
full of passions
and principles
and impatient expectations.
So it would be great
if you came
and lifted the weight just a little
with your presence,
your strength,
and all of your gentleness.
Yes,
it would be beautiful
if you would rescue me
with love’s
absolving kiss.
The beauty of a flower
can bring me to tears
and love
is one of my greatest fears
for the simple fact that
life
is my lover.
And from the sky
there can be no cover.
No philosophy,
religion,
or science could hide
the turmoil
of letting love inside.
And inside me
there are no words at all,
only thoughts
looking for the right words to call,
to express
that which does not exist.
An illusion
that I cannot resist.
A love
that is the same as fear.
Because I don’t know what I’m doing here.
I inhale
your aphrodisia
and feel it tingle
down to my tailbone.
More than a fragrance,
it is a pheromone
feigning crisis
to my physiology.
Every part of me
aches to breathe you in,
taste your skin,
re-learn every mortal sin.
For, surely,
what I knew before
could not have been
what this could be.
I inhale
your aphrodisia
and I exhale
purest ecstasy.
