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Jerome When I´m in memoryland I cannot avoid thinking On that dark spot in the pictures My childhood friend Jerome He was really smart He played basket like a pro And he was nice as none His skin might look like onyx But he had a golden heart I remember with sorrow That gloomy summer night When we were throwing at each other Water balloons in the park My dad appeared from nowhere His iron hand grabbed my arm He said something to my pal And dragged me home What a shock was for me to see Hell itself in my father´s eyes Perhaps Jerome didn´t want to burn Or he saw the devil inside What it was I just cannot tell Or maybe I´m too scared All I know is I never saw again My sweet old friend Jerome Oh father! Tell me please from your wooden closed bed, what fearful seed did you put on me? Why in their smiles I see a grim? Why are their eyes such a deep pit? What is this fear to their skin? Why am I always luckier than they? W

Entrada Podría matarte esta noche cuando arropes tu cuerpo con sábanas de lino y las sombras te cubran de ataraxia. Entraría como el fantasma santo en la noche de los santos inocentes; me pondría a tu vera, viéndote respirar, tu pecho de alondra subir y bajar, lento, rítmico, pausado, constante. tan bello como cuando te conocí, tirado en la playa, figura apolínea; recuerdo el sol besando tu piel morena, tu pelo castaño mecido por la brisa ¡Cuánto aguardé que abrieras los ojos! Aposté que serían azules, azules para naufragar y ahogarme, pero eran de un dorado cegador; ciego quedé de pasión y de pesar por no poder tenerte. Podría matarte esta noche: sería solo un instante. me colaría en tu lecho caliente, mientras sueñas con leche tibia y galletas con chispas de chocolate; palparía en tu piel la historia en braille de un pasado que quedó mal enterrado ¡Qué curioso! Tu texto no tiene cicatrices ¿Qué tal si te las hago? Podría m