a F.
A veces duelen las fisuras.
La pared apesta a lágrimas.
A veces aúlla un viento negro.
Llega el cuchillo, corta,
me salva de la sombra.
Beatriz Giovanna Ramírez
618401009
ramirezbeatrizgiovanna@gmail.com
por Beatriz Giovanna Ramírez | May 18, 2011 | Poesía | 0 Comentarios
a F.
A veces duelen las fisuras.
La pared apesta a lágrimas.
A veces aúlla un viento negro.
Llega el cuchillo, corta,
me salva de la sombra.
Beatriz Giovanna Ramírez
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