Lips

Lips that pronounce my name, lips that call me, lips that gently guard the breath of one who rests in my arms.

My heart calls me to take them, to claim them in a vigil of madness, to tear away their modesty and to satisfy in them the nostalgia of love.

I desire to drink from their nectar every moment, to every moment of this dull existence.

But the petals of the most delicate of flowers can never be touched, for whoever dares to brush them with the most delicate of caresses will bring ruin to their beauty and an end to their existence.

Those lips are forbidden to me, for if I dare approach them, I will break that flower, pluck every petal that frames its beauty, and this will wither little by little until the brown stem can no longer hold itself up, and it will be the wind that finishes the job, tearing away pieces that it will carry away flying far where I will never be able to find them, far where I will never be able to harm it again.

Sweet lips, forbidden kisses that will dwell forever in my imagination. Watching from a distance, approaching as much as their splendor allows me, as much as reason makes me keep away, seeking never to harm that beauty which someone, in their eagerness to conquer the unconquerable, has left in this place where shadows lurk and where solitude is prisoner to its own future.