Pain of love
In front of a painting of Antoni Miró,
With the same title
Moorish knees embrace a sea of lilacs
Exultant by the splendour of a naked back
that raises an avid bite on the top of his nape.
From the memory and the fury you’re dusting again
that faun encaged with tender quinces
and leavesfree the blood that gallops
the new peach of the skin that whips
the beautiful pain of loving and dying wildly.