The light assaults the roofs
a sound of yellow rain
glides over the shadows
night blues.
Awaken the soul of mirrors
and the white moon still falls
by the west stairs.
The city yawns sleepily
while in the circle of time
the needles turn.
A wind runs through the streets
and takes away the waste of the night.
I refuse to write at this hour
still the warmth of your skin
sleep in my hands
like a sweet fever runs through me
fingers...in your pores I left
my kisses for later.
I ramble the steps towards the garden,
the song of birds tear
wind.
A yellow rose came into the world
in hours of the night.
The parenthesis of a silence
makes me return to your arms
warm, like a forest
what is burning.