On a cronopial poem by J.C.

Do not let me alone, in front of thee

Do not hand me over, to that nude night

To that crossroads´sharp-edged Moon

To not more being then, these lips that sip thee up.

Wanna go thee from thyself

With this move, that whips thy body

Lays it out, under wind as black canvas.

Wanna go thee from thyself

Glancing at thee from thy eyes

Kissing thee with thy mouth that kisses me.

It can´t be true that we are two, it can´t be true

That we are

Two.