TiMe

by Candela Pérez Castellanos

Words are easy to say that without deepening there is no way to feel. At the time it is not necessary to demand It is the one that I can hold on to. It is now when I can write, the present cannot rot. Past is unsecured memory, oblivious to knowing if it is my true pillar. Future can be imagined, an omelet without curdling. The present is and will be my place, my most honest altar. Full response cannot be established, my call said that time is pleasure. Fast or slow it can happen, Inability to understand your workshop. Is future death to darken?

Maybe I don’t know how long it will be to be born. Unable to understand your measure

Is death the end of life?

I can’t imagine my departure

Am I a deceased soul?

I can assure my experience happened, at present my soul is stretched out.

Hands by Riley Church

Hands

How they can feel

The sweet touch of a mother

Or the calloused caress of a father

The hold of a child

The suppression of one over a mouth

The marks they leave Finger painting by day

Bruising on thighs by night

The duality of hands

Hands

One With Nature

by Kenaz Moon

double exposed, overly happy by Scout Lynch

Calle de Alcalá con Vistas a El Retiro

by Candela Pérez Castellanos