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not die of love, you die

not die of love, you die.

Muero

you, love, love you,

mine emergency my skin from you,

of my soul, you and me

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.

We die, love, and nothing we

but lie again, hour after hour,

and write and talk and die.

Jaime Sabines