lunes, junio 26, 2006

Agotado

Ella se arrastra hasta mi casa. Desenrolla sus piernas y apaga la luz.
Su lengua intermitente
Su lengua incandescente.
Su lengua intransigente.
Ella no necesita agua, la produce.
Y es que envolverla toda no lo garantiza .
En sus manos lábiles se lee la fuga.
¿Ya les hablé de su lengua itinerante?

6 Comments:

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