Creation
On love and loneliness
How beautiful you made my loneliness with your love letters and your ceaseless colors that burn my eyes every time I look at them.
I am forever in your power because I was brought into this world by your imagination. I am your creation.
I feed on the same sea that nursed us when we were children.
I am the glue that holds together the baked sands stuck on your skin during torrid endless summers.
Sometimes I look like a four-leaf clover sitting on the lapel of your black coat on the 15th of every month.
Other times when it is dark, you call me Selena and you make my twelve fingers knead your ecstasies and plant them in whispering tombs.
Your desires are the stage on which I dance, my hair unbraided, my first youth gone, my death date undetermined yet.
I thought nothing was about me. Everything was about you and your mind with its powerful sounds of rapid waves and its one thousand boats anchored in the same port.
Yet at 9 am in the morning you said something that made me believe you became possessed by your own creation.
The pink of the sky. The red of the flowers.
Is that true?
