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Blue Butterflies
by Pedro
Through the air
wounded butterflies
And dark lilies
mark the geographies
of your love,
Opened like the wounds
of dear old Adonis.
Lemon moon
and the illusion
of each day,
Bitter month
of sorrows forged
like metal thoughts
In the mechanized
wickedness
of my industrious skull.
Arrows
Showering rain.
Great goat god of flutes
and amorous solitude
along the crystal blue
shores of a still river.In the flower,
takes to sea
in his rose-petal sailsshipwrecked birds
and bones of old bitter dogsa silence of dreams
and Sundays without sleep
© Pedro, 2007