by David Andrés Alíx

With broken spirit, I shall train my eye on you no more

Though the image stays

Like a sponge

Clamped immodestly by a vise

In order to squeeze out every last little bit of water

When released

Her dampness remains



I shall siphon through windows screened

To my thoughts, no more

Bouyed immodestly

By the hope

That my thirst

Will be quenched

With your bliss