Rivers of carmine vessels shine

Obscured –yet opaque- timeless maze in the inner ventricle of the soul

Beckoning the ol' razor - Puzzling the daunted beast

Is the rightness for a cascade of earl grey slime

Fidgety, blind hands try to sink in the hunger

Is never morning at 7 am –

and all the desire has metamorphosed into a secluded caterpillar

– tight in its anger

maggots are tempting to fill with the pockets,

but the

Other Face

has turned around with knowledgeable repulsion

now - fathoms an ocean beyond Death

indeed – will forget the symmetry –

murmur - peeks behind the hanging

taking the form of the same haunting

-inclined in lust-

apparition of ever

0 pececillos en la red: