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
-2011.11.16
The Writing of David Andrés Alíx 