Glenda Soto-Gomez


Without Shield

50 roses;
To the core of your heart
Marching in three,
I can guess whom

50 kisses;
As strange as it may seem
Feel it in your blood,
I can announce

50 rhythms of the high hills;
The house of swing,
You fall on your knees
I grab your chin

An arrow without shield;
Following the kite,
Stairs of clouds
I would let it go and sync with you, back to back.

-Glenda Soto-Gomez



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