Y tus labios hacen vestido de tu boca. Y tu carne acrobacia. Y tu noche sirena de mar. Vengo a decirte que nuestro amor ruge como un equívoco, que se avecina la masacre, que el brillo de los laberintos crea espejos sin salida. Y nos dicen. Y nos hacen señales. Nos germina el dudoso futuro como una amenaza. Va pregonando que somos transeúntes y prófugos de la vida, posiblemente una amenaza.
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