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Union means love
But friction creates scars

Perfumed hands of protection
The same ones could strangle you

There’s a broken glass
hidden in tall grass

These thorns protect the plant’s very small green leaves. —She said—.

And then:

Take my hand while we drive.
[against all odds]

Will we crash? Can we land?

‘A car crash in the dark,
is it louder than any other car crash?’

Something sharp and shiny,
A tiny silver dagger
You keep it in your pocket.

You like to feel that weight
against your thigh

Burn those bridges
They can grow strong
but they can also wilt

Because there’s a place
delicately lit by roman candles

A place where distance fades.

Víctor M. Hidalgo