Corroded

The desires and seductions of today,  

even those completely corroded,
I feel, cautiously, curiously,

in the roguish texture of our touches; 

the droll breeze from the sea 

veils their abrasiveness,

under the sun, the wind, 

across all days; 

when 

the trees' hanging skin

peels like a hollow cotton pack

and the river

in full winter twilight  
siphons away the weight of the desiccated summer

into the earth. 

 
If you were then, my desire, 
I fear the dry breaths of your tenderness.