Feel
The silver in my blood likes this sound that comes and goes.
That isn’t so bad.
I am late to work on it again.
When twenty winters walk away from my carrusell nothing would be too far away.
I am at your feet.
The warm of your skin proves that you can play with it once, twice…
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When I hear that vow, I start to believe with a false steem.
Friends are gone, and their pace repeats forever:
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
pasaron las lluvias
Comment by silvia merino — May 2, 2006 @ 1:14 pm