5786 The evolutionary history of my chest

The evolutionary history 

Of my chest 

Is the same 

As that of the desert 

That becomes 

A barren, cold 

And lifeless wasteland. 

Your sun moves away 

From the surface 

Of my bones, 

And my kisses, 

Petrified 

On my pillow, 

Degrade like 

Humus until they 

Disappear. 

I want to conjugate 

The verb to become 

In a positive way, 

But I feel 

The algae 

Of desolation 

Wrap the emptiness 

In my lung. 

A sad army 

Of presentiments 

Occupies 

The farthest provinces 

Of my heart 

And bites me 

With iron jaws 

The damned anxiety.