Enlaces
As my years;
He invites me to long solitary walks
To yearn, to surprise flavors, letters, kisses
And the lukewarmness of her body;
With his dry leaves
It weaves a carpet of dun shades to my step
Not to feel the cold of her skin;
It makes conceited me.
In the improbable of the paradoxes I enjoy
Of my own suffering,
For knowing that still I sit
Whenever I sit I know that still I exist
While live me hopes are born,
Hope to do happy whom I love,
Of being able to be who I want to be,
Of redeeming the hanging thing
And to deliver my life in your arms
And it is that like that, I turn after verse,
In,
Do not be,
A poem or a story,
I am bleeding between lines
My feelings.
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