HandsA Poem by aletranslated from spanish
Like the eyes--
Hands, hungry and thin-- Can feel. I see the weariness, the soul, exhausted, Wrinkles of life in cigarettes, Hands of the clock in pause, The itch of the rays of the sun on the veins Hot with sweat and youth and death. So I cover my eyes To feel with my dark hands. © 2024 ale |
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