As children with the desire to be a wing, we did possess before you
to contemplate.
not know if you were a tear of God forgotten, or a wet
desire of the "Lighthouse of the Pacific."
not had the beating of the sea,
or blood pressure that has a river,
only were the quiet of a chest, he kept yearning
matchmaker.
Lake charmed our childhood, and as two prophets
be playing
Christ walked the delicate blue face
of sweetness.
never visit on sunset
was only the sun, so strong
and fairly spherical.
The sky was adorned with white froth,
then converted into maps of distant kingdoms
or the happy faces of the summer. Spring woke
our skin and in the very center of our seabed
,
we bit the apple, grapes and figs.
was extensive love under your water and your sites
lukewarm
me shelter from the cold. In the winter
consciousness rose, showered
slogans, wrestling, repression.
Our landscape is full of terror,
hate and the "land of smiles" became a grimace
miserable death.
The leaves of autumn are
in small mouths, they shoot my ignorance
of true happiness,
in this land of To Be or Not To Be,
and at the precise moment in which pleasure
your kisses,
two drops of snow just cold
falling on my bare back.
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