Story teller.

Inhabit me. 

Like the cold to a winters night. 

Like the cold to the desert. 

Inhabit me with all of your might, 

Cursory, devoted

As if witnessing a miracle.

Inhabit me. 

And then, maybe

Devour me

From the most visceral stance, to the highest ethereal plane

Take a second to contemplate my body made flesh

My mouth, aliment.

Inhabit me. 

For it is wiser to live under one´s own roof

Of the body.

Inhabit me from the door to the bed

Come dawn, no one else will know how to inhabit me.

Inhabit me. 
Or cry out naked verses.

Inhabit me red
With tales of children that never made it to old age

Inhabit me sick

Begging the Agnus Dei not to die for the sins of others

As there are only a few honest men left

Better to live on for them.

Inhabit me. 

Inhabit my fears

Devour them through the night, 

Spew them back as dreams

And then,

Inhabit me 

Purged of sin

Free of fears

Like a princess tale

Made to the image of desire. 

Inhabit me dirty

Slumped over by nights that were no more than dreams

That do not travel according to time

Time that is never lineal

That deviates upon every tiny memory

Inhabit me. 

From this, that is little more than a dream

That is my memory

Speaking to those who live on in these tales

Inhabit me verse

For I am nothing more than a story teller

Who speaks within dreams 

To open-eyed men. 

Inhabit me clean,

Embraced with a single kiss

Inhabit me without the fear of an original sin.

Rakis

There was a melancholic feeling in the air from the moment I opened my eyes

Today, the sky denied us the bliss of having the sun seeping deep within our skin

Or caressing our faces as if an ending, as if a goodbye.

Or having your sweat trail down my neck

And having the laughs evaporate with the same grace in which they appeared

Instead, they linger.

And I do not know how I could talk about a dune without your sun

About laughs without hearing yours

The first night still hangs from my neck

Close to my heart, like your scar

And the second

And the third 

With white whine and your voice

And the fourth 

And the fifth

Until we were finally forced to say goodbye.

The last goodnight hangs there

like breakfast at six

There are goodbyes that must be recounted with ones eyes shut

That are unable to be touched again 

There are others, that are told with a special light

That move entire deserts and places them at the banks of an endless river

It is necessary to sit and enjoy the melancholy behind a goodbye. 

Of the strenuous satisfaction behind knowing that after all,

amidst it all

We have the enormous bliss of a hello

of a goodbye

Of the eternal present between them both.

How easily the days have become ours.

En alguna ciudad

 Hubo un aire melancólico desde que abrí los ojos. 

Hoy, el cielo nos negó la dicha de sentir el sol hasta lo profundo de la piel

De que nos acariciara el rostro como fin y despedida.

De que bailara tu sudor sobre mi cuello 

Y que las risas se evaporaran con la gracia con la que llegaron 

Pero no, ¨they linger¨

Y no sé cómo podría hablar de una duna sin pensar en tu sol

De risas sin escuchar la tuya

Me quedo con la primera noche colgada cerquita del corazón

Y la segunda,

Y la tercera

Con vino blanco y tu voz

Y la cuarta 

Y la quinta

Hasta que hubo, por fin, que decir adios

Me quedo con el último buenas noches

El desayuno a las seis

Hay despedidas que se cuentan con los ojos cerrados

Que no se pueden volver a tocar

Hay otras, que se cuentan con un brillo especial

Que mueven desiertos enteros y los sitúa a la orilla de un río magistral

Hace falta sentarse a disfrutar de lo melancólico de un adiós. 

De la ardua satisfacción de saber que entre tanto, entre todo

Se tuvo la dicha de un hola

de un adios

Del eterno presente entre estos dos.

Con qué facilidad los días se hicieron nuestros.