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She is
happening in his fingers And The
horses are approaching (He
subjects his head To
the sublimate Of
his body) When
he colours his muscles The
goddess follows Into
his labyrinth. He
omits his head And
discards the numbers Away From
his thighs She
leads her games Into
his snare, And
peels the fruit Around
his tongue That’s The
medallion Of
the insight And
that’s the secret Of
his straightness Down
to his arms … Her
horizon And
the flood of her silver Are
to turn the waters Back
into his effeminacy And
to construct the music To
release his beginnings She
is happening In
his fingers, Gathering
them For
his pleased stallion Ah! She
is backing his muscles, Setting
her hills around him I’m
the one Releasing
the secret of touching Yes! Come
closer Let
me open What
has been left out of the horizon Which
is suspended In
the rise of the shape. Baghdad 1985 Traductor: Salam Naji |
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