“...Console my soul, clumsy air, spill into my eyes the deepest dream, a dense dream and distant like death. I recall the fingers of your hand, your bony fingers. My eyes choke for the moons of your lips. Your memory… — Victor Terán Copy Share Image
“...Console my soul, clumsy air, spill into my eyes the deepest dream, a dense dream and distant like death. I recall the fingers of… — Victor Terán Copy Share Image
