I keep on drying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Becausue I love to live.

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Saberstian lilianacruzguillen@hotmail.com Dexter theNMH Edward Harrington Nectar from the Bronx Peach