Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other, who think the same thoughts without need of speech.
No puede haber paz para nosotros,
sólo tristeza y la mayor felicidad
"You’re too old to be so shy"
he says to me
so I stay the night
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!
Watch! I’ll even cut off my finger
It will grow back like a starfish!