Not love, but something
That, when it loses its green,
Holds its form
Like ocotillo,
Long flutes of cactus
To build a ramada
At the threshold of my house.
My house, my home,
In my name.
When I love myself
As I loved you,
I will invite you in.
That, when it loses its green,
Holds its form
Like ocotillo,
Long flutes of cactus
To build a ramada
At the threshold of my house.
My house, my home,
In my name.
When I love myself
As I loved you,
I will invite you in.
No comments:
Post a Comment