Poesía - 1

Hurt me again,

and feel the gentle warmth

of mine crimson blood

steadily flowing the trace

of such a perfect face.

Hurt me again,

thy wounds shall never heal,

for they cut deep into my skin,

and bleed my soul out.

Oh, hurt me no more love,

and forget what was done,

for we’ll know it is time,

when crying upon two hazy smiles

we face our last sunset,

and vanish into the bright light.

Hurt me no more,

forget me and murder my memory,

for I’d rather forsake your gentle touch,

than have blood for tears.