now

Now

If it was the tribute that saved me
the night the butterfly died,
I could not resist feeling resistance of kissing your lips
for the interpretation that Faulkner
wanted to say,
before he died
below the light in august
or his idiot perhaps

does not required time or presence to be understood
that night that the butterfly died,
I could not hold of myself
nor the images on my mind
trying to alleviate the interminable
pain inside my lungs

as of today, I promise not to fly high above the ceiling
for I am afraid it will reopen again
and take me
as it took you

on the night the first moon light hit the lawn
as the night the first wind touched my hair
as if I was still with you
jumping between gas lamps
and roses
flying above the floor,
walking rodents
following our steps
not to hurt us
but to touch us
like that night I did
when you were besides me
wrapping me inside your delicate leaves
delicate as the scent you liberated
a day
prior to open your hands

now,
blooming
you are a beautiful flower,
and I am
dying

now, that human won’t torn you
and as I close my eyes,
I still can smell your kiss on my nose
will have you on my heart,
as long as this moment can live
as long
as today could probably be,
for someone to see us now
you just born
and I
dying,
now