The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
The guitar makes dreams cry.The crying of lost soulsescapes from its roundmouth.And like the tarantulait weaves a huge starto catch sighsthat float on its blackwooden tank. ⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓ Guitar,makes dreams crythe sob of soulslosses,leaks out of his mouthround.And like the tarantulaweave…
The fat lady came out first,tearing out roots and moistening drumskins.The fat ladywho turns dying octopuses inside out.The fat lady, the moon’s antagonist,was running through the streets and deserted buildingsand leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in the cornersand stirring up…
To find a kiss of yourswhat would I giveA kiss that strayed from your lipsdead to love My lips tastethe dirt of shadows To gaze at your dark eyeswhat would I giveDawns of rainbow garnet fanning open before God— The stars…
In the parched path I have seen the good lizard (one drop of crocodile) meditating. With his green frock-coat of an abbot of the devil, his correct bearing and his stiff collar, he has the sad air of an old…
The little boy was looking for his voice.(The king of the crickets had it.)In a drop of waterthe little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with;I will make a ring of itso that…
And that I took her to the riverbelieving that she was a girl,but she had a husband.It was the night of Santiagoand almost by compromise.the lanterns went outand the crickets were lit.in the last cornersI touched her sleeping breasts,and they…
I pronounce your nameon dark nights,when the stars cometo drink on the moonand sleep in tuftsof hidden fronds.And I feel myself hollowof passion and music.Crazy clock that singsdead ancient hours. I pronounce your name,in this dark night,and your name soundsmore…
No one understood the perfumeof the dark magnolia of your womb.Nobody knew that you tormenteda hummingbird of love between your teeth. A thousand Persian little horses fell asleepin the plaza with moon of your forehead,while through four nights I embracedyour…
Each afternoon in Granada,each afternoon, a child dies.Each afternoon the water sits downand chats with its companions. The dead wear mossy wings.The cloudy wind and the clear windare two pheasants in flight through the towers,and the day is a wounded…
I want to sleep the sleep of the apples,I want to get far away from the busyness of the cemeteries.I want to sleep the sleep of that childwho longed to cut his heart open far out at sea. I…