inside

wooden doors swing through, teasing the eyes to wander, blowing bright colors in scarves, brushing her lashes that frame the peep hole of the doors. standing in movement, she feels the compass running into directions, opening past transits and extending its roads across forming space. pieces slide together as memories disappear, giving her the golden entrance. she turns around quickly to shut herself in only to realize there was no door; it was her

coquette

nada no mas silencio
puro silencio
nada en mi

me haces reir
como sales
de lado
y te busco
para solo encontrar
el vacio de
tu lado

nada sin nada
deja los lados