I beg you to cross this shore
where the whisper for your name
begins to breed.
Do not believe in day dreams
which wound the oblivion
when sent to the abyss
of other bodies.
Do not think that tomorrow
in the virtual hour
you will find me again.
The whole day is an unveiled mystery
in the cross that lays on your back.
The night are words
in the throat of time
and our skins rhyme verses
untiring for the species.

© Rosa Lía Cuello

Rosa Lía Cuello writes from Argentina, and took part with this poem of the first Heptagrama poetry contest.

Arts and expression + Poetry