My shortage

Leave the forehead fall
Where it will be cushioned by your breath
Dispel myself
Finally melt
Leave abandoned all these pieces of steel
Containing me
Leave all of this sublime resistance
Inevitable resistance to the clashes
The strange words, the spasms of trust
Forget for a few centuries the ultimate degradation of the miry
And fall on the ground of your hands
After so many steps in the atlas
A small place lit by a sigh
And I sit down
And I don't think anymore
Of these reasons to take off from my back when I walk
Of the so long immobility of this craving

Surviving and warm
Hidden, continuous, under the continuous flow of days

March 2016