Lost 2009
Who am I?
who eats birds,
who washes his face in
the Cholera of Days
Ghost, 1983
I felt soft fingers at my throat
It seemed someone was strangling me
The lips were hard as they were sweet
It seemed someone was kissing me
My vital bones about to crack
I gaped into another's eyes
I saw it was a face I knew
A face as sweet as it was grim
It did not smile it did not break
Its eyes were wide and white its skin
I did not breathe I did not weep
I raised my hand and touched its cheek