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Poesía 71: Muñeca...

Annabelle


Tocando el disco en motel,
Veo solamente verdad suyo,
Viendo que soy más mala que Anabelle,

Pues tengo ahora en el luz espejo cuy,
Haciendo el amor,
Sin necesitar de yo,

Lendo la propria dolor,
Con algo mayor fuera en fuego,
Y tambíen la nueva color;

LLegando en casa luego,
Siento la paz,
Pero nada es fecho de guerrero...

®Poesía y Historia En Línea. Todos los derechos reservados

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