Top notes are fiery iron, leather and vanilla; middle notes are caramel and jasmine; base notes are Crème Brulée and Advocat.
VULNUS
I had a body
before it rained at night.
It was a meat house
with windows lit,
a small temple
where the soul rested its forehead
on the skin.
Then someone entered
in my most sacred darkness
and broke the bread of my light.
It came with stones thrown
from absent hands,
with sentences born in the dark,
with the hatred of those who hurt from afar
and leave it to others
the weight of the blood.
The bruises went away
with the mercy of color.
The bites left the skin
with a tired gait
of the beasts now sated.
Since then
I learned that the body can become a foreign room,
a bed full of nails,
a rose closed by frost
in the wrong month.
I learned
that a word can cause a hematoma,
that a sentence can leave a scar,
that derision can chew
longer.
But he remained inside
a shadowy nave,
hidden in a wounded church.
The skin knows anguish
before the mouth,
before the thought,
before forgiveness.
He knows the smell of fear,
that cold iron
that enters the mind
and stay seated
like a sick king.
He knows the poison of the voice,
the stroke of the sentence,
the blade of other people's laughter,
the bite of the anonymous
that throws mud
and call truth
your own hunger.
I brought the silence
on the shoulders
like a black cloak.
People saw my face
and he said: you are saved. But salvation
sometimes
it's just a closed door
behind which it still burns
the room.
Then came the perfume.
He came without noise,
how certain graces come
after the ruin.
He entered the wound
with hands of air,
with a blood of light,
with a dark patience.
He told me:
your skin is yours.
He told me:
your soul still has
a name.
And then I got up
wearing iron,
smoking,
the leather,
the ash,
the burnt rose,
the bitter resin
which only consoles
who has gone through the fire.
I got up
with black ink
of the words received
became a seal
on the skin.
I got up
with the collected stones
one by one
and merged into a crown.
Vulnus.
So I called
my wound
when it stopped being shame
and it became power.
So I called
my name
when he came out of the mud
with a sharper light.
So I called
my body
when it returned to occupy the air
with his strength.
So I called
beauty
born from my abyss:
a liquid armor,
a fierce light,
a perfume
rising from the ash
and says to the world:
I am mine. I'm still mine.
I lost blood,
but I found gold. I knew the shadow,
but now government
my night.
