James De la rosa
Juan Carlos Tuñon
Fast rooms,
Where sex is emptied into wastebaskets,
Shame lurks in the bathtub,
Sites marked by smells of obscenity, feces and blood.
Pulsating walls,
of Vice and horror with suit and gloves,
Filthy without countenance,
Lost walking prisoners.
That sordid love lies stained
In sheets with spilt semen,
Walls that dot shining
With neon lights and carefully.
The springs that do not sound resurrect,
The cries of pleasure, pain excite,
Entering a cumbersome terrain,
The soft is not to bleed, nor is it horrific.
Where sex is emptied into wastebaskets,
Shame lurks in the bathtub,
Sites marked by smells of obscenity, feces and blood.
Pulsating walls,
of Vice and horror with suit and gloves,
Filthy without countenance,
Lost walking prisoners.
That sordid love lies stained
In sheets with spilt semen,
Walls that dot shining
With neon lights and carefully.
The springs that do not sound resurrect,
The cries of pleasure, pain excite,
Entering a cumbersome terrain,
The soft is not to bleed, nor is it horrific.
