Like light red balloons dying in a fiery sky

those tender words woven out of air are.

Once they meant time and almost perfection.

Now they are dreamy planets, comets so far.

Consonants and vowels warmed delicate hands

carving words from intransitive verbs of desire.

Semantics of life written with body and ecstasy

rekindled so swiftly that sweetest fizzy fire.

As the eyes of time killed that sublime story

without mercy, the white flowers got afraid.

They froze, they cried, they saw the defeat

of that naked heart in a silent masquerade.

Karla Bardanza

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