on the other side of the window
holes in the sky,
gray amphora fresh water
detached nuts and washers
taps open, disconnected
weather.
Twenty-four hour rain.
umbrella covered streets,
colors that turn lead
with the rains
The ceilings do not stop singing,
the saxophone of the wind emits
a distant sound
On this side, entrenched
in an angle of the universe,
artificial light, a book and a coffee
pm.
You appear in the rain, the umbrella
forgotten in a corner
you come with the intention of drying yourself
in my arms, to suck my breath
warm in your mouth
To shelter you in my chest with a
bonfire smile
You lull in me, in the tenderness
of your skin and you look at me with your face
wet, like a cloud still
it slips over your head.
A sigh, followed by a smile
falls asleep to the sound of the rain.