Tengo miedo a perder la maravilla
de tus ojos de estatua, y el acento
que de noche me pone en la mejilla
la solitaria rosa de tu aliento.
Tengo pena de ser en esta orilla
tronco sin ramas; y lo que más siento
es no tener la flor, pulpa o arcilla,
para el gusano de mi sufrimiento.
Si tú eres el tesoro oculto mío,
si eres mi cruz y mi dolor mojado,
si soy el perro de tu señorío,
no me dejes perder lo que he ganado
y decora las aguas de tu río
con hojas de mi otoño enajenado.
I am a sucker for eyes. It may not always be the first thing I notice, but it will always be my favorite part of whomever I fall for. Hearing the opening line of Lorca's poem I remember what it feels like to be in love.
Tengo miedo a perder la maravilla de tus ojos de estatua...
Wow, what a concept for lovers to think about. However, although these words are beautiful and unique I also understand that is poetic love. I have put too many men on a pedistool, but can I live this romantic life without putting them on one.
I vasilate over this way too much possibly because I tend to fall for these god like men who have a secret identity (and I am okay with that), but who seem to know me without me saying a word.
"El poeta dice la verdad"
Quiero llorar mi pena y te lo digo
para que tú me quieras y me llores
en un anochecer de ruiseñores
con un puñal, con besos y contigo.
Quiero matar al único testigo
para el asesinato de mis flores
y convertir mi llanto y mis sudores
en eterno montón de duro trigo.
Que no se acabe nunca la madeja
del te quiero me quieres, siempre ardida
con decrépito sol y luna vieja;
que lo que no me des y no te pida
será para la muerte, que no deja
ni sombra por la carne estremecida.
Or perhaps my problem is that I want them to feel what I feel...
Quiero llorar mi pena y te lo digo
para que tú me quieras y me llores
en un anochecer de ruiseñores
con un puñal, con besos y contigo.
Por favor, link in my Anne Rice fetish, I want them to say,
"You feel so much, so much you make me feel."
Is that too much to ask?
Probably...
OK, maybe, but that's what I want. I want someone who has that secret identity, that is someone to figure out. Who is calculated, funny, goofy at times, holds a secret no one knows. That I am with, but is not too committed or bound down, so that I know I won't put him on a pedistool, because if he has to be with me I want him to be there because he wants to be. Yeah when we fags are no longer 2nd citizens, who are degraded not because who we sleep with, but who WE LOVE, are allowed the same priviliges of the pious breeders and can marry. Then if we both want to we will. But we don't have to, because we are together, because we love each other. Because we want each other, because the passion takes us on a ride, and the euphoria stays to settle the debris, and when the debris is down peace and love unfold on the ground until our graves call us home to slumber in the ground. Someone who can disagree with me, but stay because the disagreement agrees with him.
I ask for a lot, but very little. Someone who can talk without words and who hears me when I communicate with him. Who will hold me when I kinesthetically communicate I need touch, and who will back away when my inner scorpian takes over my outer sag and stars to sting. Who will give "us" distance to grow, and who will love, even if it is in a none classical, romantic way.
I think I have been drinking tonight, not really, but I hit a vein.
Peace,
L
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