pricking the soles staying alive,
I bite my tongue,
chewing the forbidden peel of what you are.
Can you move with me?
With my atavistic welts?
Emptying yourself of all the poisons,
while the space was shrinking.
The golden gate is silently watching you.
Give me your hands for a quiet journey,
they are shouting to blow the dirty dreams.
Every thing is done
for the vanity of the naked paper
fluttering in the annotated fingers.