este sonido en la piel con esta brisa tan dura justo hoy que traigo livianos los árboles.
José Antonio, Vuelta y Giro.
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@vueltaygiro
este sonido en la piel con esta brisa tan dura justo hoy que traigo livianos los árboles.
José Antonio, Vuelta y Giro.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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– Jaime Sabines.
– Alejandra Pizarnik.
sitting here. unkissed. when will it end
Aquí están enterrados unos dioses antiguos.
Unos dioses crueles como suelen ser los dioses.
Sin embargo, aceptaban las plegarias.
– frg. La troballa, Marià Villangómez.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Louise Bourgeois, Manuscritos
National Geographic Nature Photographer of the Year | Nakatsuna Lake, Nagano, Japan by Comyu Matsuoka
El gato y las naranjas.
Alguien de pronto me tocó con sutileza el hombro, giré la cabeza y las gotas me mojaron la cara. Era Ella que me miraba desde arriba. Estaba emparamada, el agua le escurría por el pelo y la cara. Me levanté y nos dimos un abrazo que duró, más o menos, todo el tiempo que habíamos dejado de vernos. Una vez más, no hubo necesidad ni posibilidad de palabras. No había nada que pudiera arruinar ese silencio. No hay verbo ni adjetivo para el reencuentro de los amores imposibles. Me dio un beso en la frente, tomándome la cara con las dos manos, y se marchó bajo la lluvia.
Mientras la miraba alejarse pensé que había ganado también algo de peso. Pero le quedaban bien los kilos extra. Magníficamente bien. Además me dejó embadurnado con su olor a miel, a ese almizcle húmedo que solo ella sabía producir en sus laboratorios secretos. El olor del amor. Qué maravilla, qué tragedia, qué gozo, qué maldición, todo eso en simultáneo y otra vez.
– frg. La vida en otra parte, José Urriola.
why are people outside at the same time as me it’s my turn

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– Raquel Abend Van Dalen.
– Jaime Sabines.
The Forgotten One (1883) after Édouard de Beaumont
South American Mountain Lion (Puma concolor ssp. concolor)
Observed by pfaucher, CC BY-NC
— Mario Benedetti.

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To die means to be capable of death as death. The animal perishes. It has death neither ahead of itself nor behind it. Death is the shrine of Nothing, that is, of that which in every respect is never something that merely exists, but which nevertheless presences, even as the mystery of Being itself. As the shrine of Nothing, death harbors within itself the presencing of Being. As the shrine of Nothing, death is the shelter of Being. We now call mortals mortals—not because their earthly life comes to an end, but because they are capable of death as death. Mortals are who they are, as mortals, present in the shelter of being. They are the presencing relation to Being as Being.
Martin Heidegger, "The Thing" in Poetry, Language, Thought