37.
       

From my eyes to your eyes, the torment. From your skin to my mouth, the abyss. The silences. The walls. An uncomfortable millimetric distance. Between the sheets, only the hysteria remains of your history. Of my history, the mystery. The voices. Other tongues tired of searching for you. The disguises. A pile of invisible stones. Instinct prowls alone in the shattering of walls.

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Copyright © 2019 Luis Panini, Lawrence Schimel All rights reserved
from Destruction of the Lover
Pleiades Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission