Como la mar muerta que se tragaba marinos
El silencio tupido de una noche sin estrellas ni lunas
El asecho frío de una mirada desde la hierba alta
El descontento echo en falta, de una mujer vestido de sonrisa
Así la tormenta se sabe aterrado, consciente de que antes fue calma.
Participando en el Club de Poesía @freewritehouse
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