You
fed up with so much doubt,
of asking the wind,
you
where did I meet the moon?
me?
what in What the hell do I spend my time on?
- Going out, drinking, the usual stuff,
getting into a thousand lines, talking to people,
getting to bed and...damn, what? dirty! without you.
I don't even touch the ground and scare even the clouds,
I don't know if it's your kisses or this tripe that climbs me.
I don't remember anything anymore, that everything was of colors.
Where will the kisses be? - the flowers have kept them.
Going out, drinking, the usual thing,
getting a thousand lines, talking to people,
getting to bed and fucking, how dirty without you,
and the next day...
And when I get home they greet me:
- Hey! Where are you going, bastard? Where have you been?
- I assure you that I have not been too much, that I have not wasted my time,
that I have spent it on:
Going out, drinking , the usual stuff,
getting into a thousand lines, talking to people,
getting to bed and...damn, how filthy! without you.
and the next day...
* For some, living is galloping
a path paved with hours,
minutes and seconds.
I am more humble
and I just want the wave that arises
from the last breath of a second,
to carry me rocked
until the next. *

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