I am from lace tablecloths,
from Betty Crocker brownies and frosty wedding cakes.
I am from the hard-baked brick house,
cuddling comfort,
crackling, roasted apples by the fireplace.
I am from
And then he was here,
this man with such beauty in his eyes
that for a moment
I stood transfixed,
raising my hands towards the sky
as if waiting for rain
to assure me that it has been done,
as
There\'s a darkness around him,
that comes about
on certain days
of tango like movements,
sharp as a winter frost bite
on her lips
which have long ago forgotten
how to kiss.
In her gesture
I said
you will not understand what you can\'t love beyond fear
it\'s like the dark
bearing the sunrise
fearfully beautiful
the love in our prisons
we stick our body through it until we get
Blue flowers, dead in the window panes
left behind on purpose,
so you can see them
and remember forgetfulness.
Blue birds hanging from the sky
in clear mornings,
so beautiful just to tempt
Covering the clay altars on our temples
with old and new faces,
we pretend, secretively,
that we don\'t miss anything,
that nothing hurts us.
In some favorable seasons
we are happy...
In the
Some people, born in a strange season
are damned to Word,
and the Word changes their soul...
Their eyes gash the piece of stone
and they talk with the stone\'s facade,
their palms reach the
Do you know what happens
when light dies?
You can\'t find any more
birds
that can pin you up to the sky...
You\'re left begging something
that you will never have,
and then, lastly,
you die
He used to come dressed in black
and I, in love.
We existed in two worlds,
through notes and verse.
It was just an image,
on the screen
of my solitude.
But not only that.
It was
love.
As soon as the spider webs, ghosts, vampires, witches and all the other Halloween decorations are put down in stores across America, the race for the perfect Christmas gift begins. That gives
And the preacher said to me:
\"Will you take this man?\"
\"I will. I\'ll take him away,
from all of you, from your judging
eyes, from your prying ears
and your pointing fingers.
I will carry
I\'ve heard the flutter of wings
rapping at the windows of my soul.
It was raining outside,
she was sad, cold and alone.
And I couldn\'t decide
if I should let in this dove.
I\'ve opened the
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