And that’s right… it’s your eyes then that tells me something I’m still trying to figure out, a secret something like your kisses.
What did you do in me that I cannot sleep without you, that I never thought I could think so much of you and believe that I am someone influential in this world;
maybe trust someone other than my own life, at least go back to writing.
What makes me a poet now is your look, the love that overflows what you decided one day not to show again for fear of… I don’t know, but, here I am lying at your feet, not knowing yet why.
A toad turned into a prince. And I did not know what to think, I had no choice but to feel; for that or for some, I only know that spring was coming and the flowers would be the first to judge me for not taking the opportunity to love you.
What would happen then if I decided not to. What if you ask the opposite? Would I take a glass of the finest wine? Or would I wait a thousand years?
And if I waited, I would do so only to see you, to feel you, so I could not entertain you;
I would add the past and the present; so that this uncertain future would be full of strength and confidence… intelligent resolution.
It would be something from both of us, a secret camouflaged in a pious lie… verbal.
We would challenge what they say is their language and make it our language.
And if I knew that I am the only one who can finish; not only him, with his placebo-like indignations and his eccentric speech and with his tongue that caresses all the external and internal parts of any being.
Here I continue recovering air… the air that I lacked when he asphyxiated me with so much love, and at the same time, with so much fear.
Fear that is found as detoxification of expired memories, but still rotten… that’s what there is; intoxication and noise.
So, spring makes the wind flow and the stories of cold regenerate and allows the stories of summer love to warm up. The sun warms and the weather changes. It dawns earlier.