The weight of the eyes

The weight of the eyes
At night between sheets static
And the ticking of an old clock
Results in grams of silences
Dried in minutes.
One, two, fifty-seven.
Then return to the languid noise of the senses
A call to have the lips which make tremble the time
And expectations
It spins in the air paintings
Poor washed-out colors
At the corner of the dark
Without the moon to cut the atmosphere,
The woman who waited on measuring the semblance of men.
But now I am going to sleep again,
I do not remember because I was so tired.

Annunci