Itziar Verría’s Birds 

Only the birds

May touch upon the beauty

Of women’s lips & feet

And still be allowed

To take to the skySoft woman

Crumpled sweet

Against his solid chest, 

Ribs rushed with breath—

He dies upon her lips

Drinking the death in the warmth of

Her sigh

What gentle chaos

To love & live

Inside this dying autumn light

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