Son los árboles subterráneos para escribir tu nombre, para allí ponerme, restar. Te miro. Te reconozco a cada comienzo en tu rostro despierto, en tu aliento, en la sonrisa que me das. A veces intemperie; a veces tormenta breve. Me tomas la noche y la haces breve, tortuosa y breve. Despertamos del hambre blancos. Comemos lo que nos queda del cuerpo. Y ya saciados, hablamos.
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