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February 16, 2006


Federico Garcia Lorca

Only your hot heart,
and nothing more.

My paradise a field
without nightingales
or lyres,
with a discreet river
and a little fountain.

Without the spur of the wind
against the branch,
without the star that wants
to be the leaf.

An enormous light
that longs to be
the firefly
of another,
in a field of
defeated looks.

A clear repose
and there our kisses,
sonorous freckles
of Echo,
would open far away.

And your hot heart,
nothing more.

Posted by pogo at February 16, 2006 6:26 PM

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I live in 70044 Las Vegas, Nevada. Have you been here before?

Posted by: Ein Lo Sechel on October 4, 2006 2:17 AM

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