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Our love found the curse when you recited my poems in Turkey,
It did not have to be a cemetery,
It did not have to be at night,
Could not be other than your love.
Our days joined together like our looks,
We wanted to forget other people and shared our toxic memories.
We did not have to make love in a cemetery,
We did not have to do it in your climaterium.
My warhead of verses is flooded with your tears,
My shield of fish is fractured with your words,
and regrets.
What we had got you wet, what we had lit you,
What you did not call by any name was a fleeting century.
I know that not everything was perfect, I know that blue was infected,
But the nights and the dawns were erected.
Our love found the curse in other people's orgasms,
In real gravestones, with authentic deceaseds.
My battering ram pumped you hard,
And you twitch, like a pitiful spark.
The redemption that you were looking for is in my gonads,
And now you will empty your memories and fill your throat
Of my hours, thick and whitish.
Open, open, open, do not leave anything
Swallow and smile, squeeze me all,
Like a moist, empty stellar skin
falling down apart
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Forgetting
RandomHow to forget someone who has gone , how to forget someone you can not forget , for love or hate, pleasure or disappointment . The art of forgetting gives you the keys to overcoming the sleep of reason , that dream we often produces monsters...
