Karthago

Karthago

Drawing lines that later will reveal
The bounds that merge us down
In a mass of pressured thoughts
It is true I cannot remember
When I first saw your hesitating walk
Your eyes moving as if your doubt was mine
Time is a verb and I should have known
How to spell your name without this beauty
That in the end is an empty enchantment
To summon winds from inexistent coordinates



. . . . . . . . . . .
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My mind fights on many fronts.