The Blood

It swims left abused to it. It was as if a perennial angelical light was always to cover the veins to it. Its taste for the life if made to notice to each gesture and its face exhaled a tender energy, decorated that he was for lined up requintes of inefvel beauty. It counted already sixteen years when, in a beautiful day, when adentrar the classroom, found a poem manuscript in notebook leaf delicately folded paperback, in the wallet where of custom if it seated. Curious, it read the poem: Eyes that recite poetries; brightness of the loaned sea; esvoaantes colibris if searching side by side. Multicolored vision, open windows of the soul, the Real and the sublime one if confrotting in the same calm. Crystalline mirrors prisoners who to the face frame enchant; liquid poems that if they transform into song.

Emeralds stoned in the singeleza of a cativante smile; dreams that break route to the infinite, but return It understood that the poem is written for it. For it knew that it very well, therefore its eyes there were portraied with words meigas and of the most adocicada candor. It reread it pausadamente, after that, it kept enters leves of the notebook. Finda the lesson, was directed for the exit, but she was not boarded for nobody. Its virgin heart now beat immense, as that arremedando chouto of the descabrestada animalada one. A feeling was arisen it until then unknown; something inquietante, one in one – know-what! intraduzvel, mixing one of euphoria and desire, or would be Not! It was indefinvel.

It was yes. But the cardiac rhythm if speeds up and the blood, when covering the veins, seemed warm for a uncontrolled flare fire. In the days and weeks that if had followed the anonymous poet did not appear; another poem uselessly was waited. But it continued trying and deep transformations soft.