
Who see them walking through the city
if everyone blind?
They hold hands, something
talks between their fingers, tongues lick sweet wet
palm, run through the phalanges,
and above is the night full of eyes.
are the lovers, the island floats adrift deaths
to grass, to
ports are opened between the sheets.
Everything is disordered through them all is their number
retracted;
but they do not even know
while rolling in his sand bitter
there is a pause in the work of nowhere,
the tiger is a garden to play. Sunrise
in garbage trucks,
start out blind,
Ministry opens its doors.
rendered lovers look and touch
again smell the day before.
are already dressed and go down the street.
And it is only then when they're dead, when they are dressed, the city
recovers
hypocritical and duties imposed on them daily. JULY
CORTAZAR
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