Poetry

I will not understand 
the gift of hurting 
in unsolicited encounters. 
 
Will chase you around 
the world, 
without arriving. 
 
O fear, my bread; 
cannot feel you, unbirthing. 
Life gives me many stitches. 
 
A parallel face mocks 
in the sky, unless the moon 
cries for the kiss. 
 
Wooden wheels move on 
the laid body. Your venomous 
tooth I break.