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anjodorio
From the dark side of your skin you illuminate me. Let me be the wolf —shadow of thirst and dog and hunger— that enters the night of your body with damp, hesitant steps, through your uncertain forest —your smell of the sea guides me towards your waves— to touch inside the crescent moon of your smile. Let me know —even with a tongue— the deepest darkness, the quietest, and invoke with repeated movements, rituals like howls, the full moon of your body, the one that carries me to you as if it were me, in your hands, water that you become an illuminated tide.
anjodorio
I think of your sex. Simplified the heart, I think of your sex, before the mature daughter of the day. I touch the button of happiness, it is ripe. And die an old feeling in the brain degenerate. I think of your sex, furrow more prolific and harmonious than the womb of the shadow, although death conceives and gives birth to God himself. Oh Consciousness, I think, yes, in the free brute who enjoys where he wants, where he can. Oh honey scandal of the twilights. O dumb rumble. Odumodneurtse!
anjodorio
Do you leave me here or leave with me? Am I inside you or is it that you call me? Do you live only in me or do I find the world in you, with you? The order of things in which I love you, where does it begin or end? Now there is silence settled in the rose of the air and a nearby tree trills among the birds to shade your dream, or is it my dream? Is this a prison or does the vast sky start here where your feet touch the earth together, or is it the moon? Suddenly I enter the light I already inhabit and my eyes meet your forehead. I seek to get out of you and I carry you inside me, without finding you. Without how, where or when Blind in the light with my gaze open to so many multitudes of you that I am lost in the night in the middle of the day
anjodorio
You will pass through my life without knowing what happened. You will pass silently by my love and, as you pass, I will fake a smile, as a sweet contrast to the pain of loving you... and you will never know. I will dream of the virgin nacre of your forehead; I will dream of your sea emerald eyes; I will dream of your lips desperately; I will dream of your kisses... and you will never know. Maybe you'll go with someone else who whispers in your ear those phrases that nobody like me will tell you; and, forever drowning my unnoticed love, I will love you more than ever... and you will never know it. I will love you in silence, like something inaccessible, like a dream that I will never achieve; and the distant perfume of my impossible love will touch your hair... and you will never know it. And if one day a tear denounces my torment -the infinite torment that I must hide from you- I will tell you with a smile: "It's nothing... It was the wind." I'll wipe my tears... and you'll never know.
anjodorio
I say goodbye to you and maybe I still love you Maybe I won't forget you... But I say goodbye I don't know if you loved me... I don't know if I loved you Or maybe we both loved each other too much. This sad and passionate and crazy affection I planted in my soul to love you. I don't know if I loved you a lot... I don't know if I loved you a little, but I do know that I will never love like this again. I have your smile asleep in my memory And the heart tells me that I will not forget you. But by staying alone... Knowing that I lose you, Maybe I start to love you like I never loved you. I say goodbye to you and perhaps with this goodbye my most beautiful dream dies within me. But I say goodbye to you for life, Although all life continues to think of you.
anjodorio
The true beauty of women, That beauty that endures, Is without a doubt that of the mature woman... Well, it is the woman who knows what she wants... She has already lived love affairs... She has already had happiness, she has already suffered pain... For your experience. She becomes demanding... She does not want to suffer again... She does not let herself be carried away by a sudden... She wants to know that she is loved, She wants to be well conquered... Even if it is a love of the moment... That perhaps, it will be a torment ... It has to be sincere... there must be feeling... And even if it doesn't last, let it be eternal as long as it lasts... Whoever wants a mature woman to conquer. You must know that... She wants company... with a lot of harmony, She wants a shared life... she is a woman who makes decisions... to have her space and respect... well, she was conquered... She wants love... she wants affection. .. and also consideration... Anyway... she wants to be treated as a woman, who knows how to choose her path... Who always knew how to live... She just wants to have the right to choose How to do...
anjodorio
How many times, love, have I loved you without seeing you and perhaps without memory, without recognizing your gaze, without looking at you, centaur, in opposite regions, in a scorching midday: You were just the aroma of the cereal that I adore. Maybe I saw you, I guessed you as I passed by raising a glass in Angola, in the June moonlight, or you were on the waist of that guitar that I played in the dark and it looked like the sea too much. I loved you without knowing it and sought your memory. I entered empty houses with a flashlight to steal your portrait. But I already knew what it was. Suddenly while you were with me I touched you and my life stopped: before my eyes you were, reigning and queens. Like a bonfire in the forest, fire is your kingdom. (Pablo Neruda)
anjodorio
Love Words are boats and they get lost that way, from mouth to mouth, like from mist to mist. They carry their merchandise through conversations without finding a port, the night that weighs them down like an anchor. They must get used to aging and patiently living on wood used by the waves, slowly decomposing, damaging themselves, until the sea reaches the routine warehouse and sinks them. Because life enters words like the sea in a boat, covers the names of things with time and brings to the root of an adjective the sky of a date, the balcony of a house, the light of a city reflected in a River. For this reason, mist after mist, when love invades words, hits their walls, marks on them the signs of a personal history and leaves sensations of cold and heat in the past of vocabularies, nights that are night, seas that they are the sea, solitary walks with extended sentences and stopped trains and songs. If love, like everything else, is a matter of words, approaching your body was creating a language
anjodorio
Your kisses are sweet as honey and they won my heart! Among all the stars, your eyes were my favorite. You are unreal, what makes me fall in love more every day, what makes me adore you like this, is all of you. Meeting you was my luck, loving you is a pleasure. Asking my head to stop thinking about you is like asking my heart to stop beating. I love you much more than yesterday because my love for you grows every day. I need to feel the heat of your kisses in every part of my body. If I were sea and you were rock, I would make the tide rise to kiss your mouth. I don't want to be a chapter of your life, I want to be your story. It's not what I feel for you, it's what I don't feel for anyone else. If nothing saves us from death, unless love saves us from life. When I found you, I realized that all my life I had been lost. You are what I love most in this world! You are the only person who makes me draw hearts. Some people write, dance or speak beautifully, but you, my dear, you exist.
anjodorio
Or what to say?!? I lack words because with each encounter I love you more and more... I don't love you but because I love you and from loving you to not loving you I arrive and from waiting for you when I don't wait for you my heart goes from cold to fire. I love you only because I love you, I hate you endlessly, and hating you I beg you, and the measure of my traveling love is not seeing you and loving you like a blind man. Perhaps it will consume the light of January, its cruel ray, my whole heart, stealing the key to peace. In this story only I die and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, love, with blood and fire.
anjodorio
Sometimes silence summons uproar parodies of courage mirages of duende tangos against the grain disconsolate rage cries of death thirst and hunger for you but other times it is just silence loneliness like a desert oak without oasis dismasted ship sadness that drips around rubble mute fire Lo What I like about your body is sex. What I like about your sex is your mouth. What I like about your mouth is the tongue. What I like about your language is the word. Love of my heart, long live death, in vain I wait for your written word and I think, with the flower that withers, that if I live without me I want to lose you. The air is immortal. The inert stone Neither knows the shadow nor avoids it. Inner heart does not need the frozen honey that the moon pours. But I suffered you. I ripped my veins, tiger and dove, on your waist in a duel of bites and lilies. So fill my madness with words or let me live in my serene night of the soul forever dark.
anjodorio
It's a shame you're not with me when I look at the clock and it's four o'clock and I finish the spreadsheet and I think for ten minutes and I stretch my legs like every afternoon and I do that with my shoulders to loosen my back and I bend my fingers and pull lies out of them . It's a shame you're not with me when I look at the clock and it's five o'clock and I'm a handle that calculates interest or two hands that jump over forty keys or an ear that listens to how the phone barks or a guy who does numbers and gets truths out of them. It's a shame you're not with me when I look at the clock and it's six o'clock. You could come up to me in surprise and say "How's it going?" and I would be left with the red stain of your lips, you with the blue soot of my carbon.
anjodorio
Nobody lowers to tears or reproaches this declaration of the mastery of God, who with magnificent irony gave me both the books and the night. He made owners of this city of books to eyes without light, which can only read in the libraries of dreams the insane paragraphs that the dawns yield to their eagerness. In vain the day lavishes its infinite books on them, arduous as the arduous manuscripts that perished in Alexandria. From hunger and thirst (he narrates a Greek story) a king dies among fountains and gardens; aimlessly I fatigue the confines of this high and deep blind library. Encyclopedias, atlases, the East and the West, centuries, dynasties, symbols, cosmos and cosmogonies provide the walls, but to no avail. Slow in my shadow, the hollow gloom I explore with the indecisive staff, I, who imagined Paradise under the guise of a library. Something, which is certainly not named by the word chance, governs these things; another already received in other blurry afternoons the many books and the shadow.
