The dance of the butterfly

The taste of the kiss 

screams nostalgia 

on a blank canvas

where love 

dances adventurously 

on the butterfly wing

until the memory 

bursts into flames

on the white line of the calendar

…

The stroke of your hands 

on the softness of the colorless imagination of reaching

is like caressing the dew 

in the morning of reality.

The awakening of the mirror 

from the sleep of destiny 

occurs with the intersection of your gaze 

on the rebellion of my femininity…

Be my man, 

I am thirsty for stillness 

in the unceasing rotation of destiny ...