Descubren tus ojos las puertas de la sonrisa. Estaban los silencios colgados, la primavera presente. Era la tristeza corta. Tu dulzura vello de mi piel, milagro de la luz de tu cuerpo. Y, a veces, criatura de la timidez. Te hacías distante y rota, otra y encierro, lento silencio del golpe de la pena.
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