Your touch

I keep wandering
Through these crooked stones
Cold
And half dead

I keep watching
The grayish spectrum
And the dead blow
Of a watch, unstoppable,
To the shells, old
And muddy

But, in your cloak of skin,
Vivid, and in palettes
I surpass, in quick instances,
Naked or dressed
Dry or wet

In the deep brown pupils
The clocks, stunned, stop
And I drown
In the love, eternal and intense
That lives within your touch.