hundreds of miles
I feel your distance, like the closest island to my despair.

I send you my letters.
Clumsy caresses of those who loved reason.
Passion was only legend.
And love a story.

One more resource in the cartridge,
of the writer, narrator.

Dreamer of the impossible
Creator of possible.
All characters.
All fiction.

I shot all my poems,
until I run out of verses.

And my letters, full of false praise,
They do not hide desire.

I just wait for your kisses.
The prophecy is fulfilled.
condemnation of wise
nor kissing the frog will make me a prince.

Not even bringing my lips closer will wake you from your dreams.