The voices are of silky texture
Holding onto mnemic paralysis.
Fragrant waves that fluctuate between
An immersion I’m not very proud of.
And for that,
may I be a servant to your nearest dreams,
for the cross I nailed myself into
is in need of dire attention.
And if it takes a heart
to dwell into a distant future,
then, for the sake of composure,
regardless of the clashing,
I’ll remain as your watchtower.
By: Carlos Vélez