Over The Furniture, A Limousine Compounds My Imagination Poem by Cristobal Benjumea

Over The Furniture, A Limousine Compounds My Imagination



Im compounded by more than, im made of raw emotions A limousine is

By air

your love is a limousine, shinny, soft like spongy chairs, smooth as an leather interior

our love is a titan that brushes everything away, i was made to manage a laundrette

it was vital to the relationship i had with this brunette, who fired my imagination

im drinking love balm i feel like im surfing the foam, staring at the foam is lokevisiting other planets

but what do i know about love, that wasnt a figment of my imagination.

what part was physical.

what part was compounded by comfort and style, and fame

and what of emotions



i don indulge in foam, except in distress, and vacant i ascertain vast proportial atractions to inhabit

if the wind asks for the foam to the hermit in the cave, does he want to go to the lake of red3mption

its just a station, not goal

coveting losens your connection on the earth to your brothers, and then you respond to god will you say you did what he wanted, or you were a reflection of yourself that you looked to yourself, that his works are unfinnished, you didnt ask for help you payed false judge to his comitments

chance would have been a fine thing

that the world would have been that except for you

and that it was this because of you


she likes the seven peaks of the andes

what would you disclose to god, thati like coffee a and cheries

you learnt

i prefer watching the sand on the shoreline

i want to take you to a party, with a forest in the middle

but the dawn apears in this california house

the shadows dissapear

mor ethan just superficial, items

in the conversation

but secret revelations of our lords will

substantial, satisfaction,

dont be contemptible

uncomptemtible

i knew this before
your penchance for leather high heels, and belts

vertiginous emotion compounded by more than comfy chairs and luxury

its in action





but i didnt now that

something meaninfull, though i dont know the meaning of everyone

the sirens melody knows

the whereabouts of the room where the honey flowed endlessly

where the path is

what are the bad doors, the mirrors in the parties

how many more miles to your home

but the lakes reflectio is still there

the path is full of weeds



i was sure that you were capable of more than complacency

my memories will become, the senses impulses to form

statues from waves

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success