Never let me Lose the Marvel
of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
the solitary rose of your breath
places on my cheek at night.
I am afraid of being, on this shore,
a branch less trunk and what I most regret,
is having no flower, pulp or clay
for the worm of my despair.
If you are my hidden treasure,
If you are my cross, my dampened pain,
If I am a dog, and you alone are my master
Never let me lose what I have gained
and adorn the branches of your river
with the leaves of my estranged autumn.
-Lorca
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment