El más profundo vacío

Dusty lovers: does not exist a way.
No words to say the empty,
no angle to make a best scene of sex and deliverance.
Because not.
Practice the painful act of love someone.
Make hackneyed acts, do charmless smiles,
smudgy poems like riptides.
To give a mild happiness.
To someone. To someone that
in the last steeps,
will become in nobody.
No even lusty livers couldn’t bear
a caged rust life,
kipped that way
in a pursuit of drive off
the unrelenting loneliness.