mouth and unbearable that I am without you.
I die of you and me, dying of both
of us, that,
torn, split,
I die, you die, you die.
We die in my room when I am alone,
in my bed in which faults
on the street where my arm is empty,
in film and parks, trams,
where my shoulder
usually your head and my hand your hand
and everything I know you as myself.
We die in the place that I have paid the air
to keep you out of me,
and the place where the air is just
when I cast my skin over
and we know in ourselves,
separate from the world, happy, penetrated,
and certainly endless.
We die, we know, ignore it, we die
between the two now separate
of each other, daily,
falling from multiple statues,
gestures do not see,
in our hands that we need.
We die, love, die in your belly
not bite or kiss,
on your thighs sweetest and most live
in your flesh Endless die masks,
triangles dark and relentless.
Muero of my body and your body,
of our death, love, die, die.
In the well of love at all hours,
inconsolable, screaming,
inside me, I mean, I call you, you
called birth, which
come back, you, who you get.
