Te hablaba despacio como el que no quiere despertarte, como el que balancea el tiempo en primavera. Estaba en la ofrenda de tus manos, en tu llanto, en el nombre de tu divina sangre. Ponía suspendida la vida muy cerquita de tu fuego, ciego como una tormenta silenciosa. Descansabas viva y suelta en tu boca insaciable.
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