I fly on the wings of a book,
in expansive memory
of a writer I dive.
In that unknown world
which looks like mine.
In similar sunsets
that spill their colors
in my eyes, songs of birds
imagined and real in my world
alternative.
In your flowered skin of fragrances
protagonist of my garden
and my roses, cultivated
in your belly
I fly on the wings of a book
the night catches me in the shadows
of a hostile and anonymous city,
silence roars in its long streets
without space, with architecture
torturous, without opportunities
for those who wander the streets.
decode words and puzzles
incomplete Puzzle,
Channels that were rivers, deserts
that were forests, towns
invented in fantasy.
Characters walking the line
of a path, love and betrayal,
the distant hug and kisses
in the wind that falls asleep in your
lips.
I fly on the wings of a book,
I furrow skies with storms,
starry nights, yellow roads
bathed in sun, the mystery of the sea,
ghost ships docking
in the crackling springs of mist.
In the silence that runs through the night
I fly on the wings of a book,
that devours my eyes with longing,
calls me, catches me, tortures me
and hugs me.