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my flower
She is a flower
Transiting the time
With its petals dry, red and eternal
She has red fire that does not burn
The red, almost bloodless
From the passion of youth
Nostalgic sunset at the end of the day
Her delicate translucent petals
Like ghosts, past gleaming
They refuse to be mortises for the departed
Still, your skin without time
Warm my gaze
That refuses to depart from your petals
Although pupils of my eyes burn
marzo 14 2013
