In the garden book
sang the withered flowers
of perfume the dreams that the dawn
let it slip away to the far shore
of a sea green leaf.
Simple, common and casual I found you
In a drowning dawn
The verb turned off the light and the illusion
a long pilgrimage was made
to the valley of emosion.
I'm singing along the routes
of hope those called to a temple
of love where the pearls of my days
take refuge in a drowned caress
in the time of a painting without landscape.
I'm cold at night without your skin
had heat from the orchid that flew
to the muse of silence.
I am afraid of your hands without friction
I'm hungry for the plate that broke
on the table of your eyes without gaze.
I break the murmur with bits of anguish
and I smile out of nowhere in the retinas without fire.
I remember the future of a lipless kiss
of a body without tenderness, and a goodbye without return.