I havent posted a poem in a while, i wrote it without editing.
A gust of wind passed, and you rose to maintain my buried battered heart,
A passerby witnessed in slow motion your body
Moving, swaying a black silhouette aura
Your fingers, burned the surface of my skin, and the winds passed
Your eyes, unlocked the only door left inside my soul torn open by other grips
A red mark on the doorknob was left so that if anybody else was curious, they would burn their hands.
- Jorge Narvaez