La madrugada llega en puntillas a mi almohada y despliega su manto frío y desolador. Busco a tientas tus palabras, las rozo levemente y en ellas me acurruco, me abandono y amanezco. La madrugada insiste y también el insomnio. Animales en celo, hambrientos, preparados para la embestida. Lucen sus viejas cicatrices como surcos en la
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