This balm does not heal scars
This rumbita does not know how to fall in love
This rosary of unhappy beads
It is silent more than it says
But it tells the truth
br/>This warehouse of sheets that do not burn
This telephone without an answering machine
I will call her tomorrow, today I was late
This cowardly way
Of not saying no to ourselves
This one with you, this one without you so bitter
This hourglass of the sand pit
This kissing strike, this lethargy
These long pants
For old Peter Pan
This dresser without panties from Zara
The tour of Soho from a red bus
These eyes that don't They neither measure nor compare
Nor do they forget your face
Nor do they remember your cross
Do not abuse my inspiration
Do not accuse my heart
So battered and worn
That is closed due to demolition
Through the wrinkles of my voice
The desolation is filtered
Of knowing that these are
The ºlast verses that I write to you
To say condios to both of us we have plenty of reasons
This paya so far from its gypsy
This port prison without vis a vis
This civil war , this hand in hand
These Moors and Christians
This Berlin Wall
This virus that does not die or kill us
This amnesia in the sky of the palate
The limousine of dust by manhattan
Winter in Mar del Plata
The captain's verses
This growing up without delicacy
This back wet with muscatel
This valley of factories of sadness
This foam of certainty
This hive without honey
This blur of blood and China ink
This bathroom without mascara or nembutal
These bones that return from the office
Inside a trench coat
With stains of loneliness
Do not abuse my inspiration
Do not accuse me heart
So battered and worn
That it is closed due to demolition
Through the wrinkles of my voice
The desolation is filtered
Of knowing that These are
The last verses that I write to you
To say condios to both of us we have plenty of reasons

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