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Como la voz de un muerto que cantara desde el fondo de su fosa, amante, escucha subir hasta tu retiro mi voz agria y falsa. Abre tu alma y tu oÃdo al son de mi mandolina: para ti he hecho, para ti, esta canción cruel y zalamera.
Serenata | Paul Verlaine
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Odio las palabras, amo las miradas porque las palabras son distancia, las miradas, la pasión, y si escribo es para citarte para mirarte a los ojos y amarte, y si escribo es para citarte Ten parado el tiempo en tus besos, recogiéndote el pelo se paró en el momento en que más deseo vivir.
Como la caña del sur.
