a poem - Your hands are pure pain


Your hands are pure pain
and your lips pure lust.

There are no secrets between us in this night
but a silent crime that make us smile.

You are my dethroned queen
waiting for the mercy of an injuried God.

There was no regret when you murdered your brother
but a comfortable caress on my shinny knife.

Your hands are pure desire
and your lips pure sorrow.

There is no sun rising every morning
but clear darkness blessing our paths.

Your are my failed lover
waiting for the sacrament of our sinner fathers.