As it wasn’t pain what you looked for
You found an explanatory solution
You allotted some time, a few days in the almanac
You knew that it wouldn’t be enough for the deceit.
Of one you said idealist, of the other opportunist
Living your part in judgment
The hidden minutes when you decided
The consequence previous to your breathing
When finally they let you say what you wanted.
And not as they wanted
And not as you should
And not as you yearned
And not as you would preferred
But from your heart
With a little of anger
And a little of faith
Like those who do as they like
But not as those who love –
Between the game of chance
And the fortune to be able to count on
With a place where you will not fall dawn.
For the revenge, of his intention
For the sunrise that doesn’t belong to him
To whom you want to give as reprimand
To the one who asked and you denied
That day in which he crossed the borders
Not only for doing it
But for performing it
He didn’t have your skin as reason.
So you realize that somebody knows
What is planned and what is hidden
In the arms lifting a child
That refuses writing a letter later on
Where he would say what he wants
Without considering who is the one who wants it
Because what he wants seems to be a little more
Than what the other desires
Like an animated thing among puppets
Whose stings suspects with terrible clarity.
The page opened to things that happens
Electricity that explains the skin
Electrons ignoring the memory
And the air shared with somebody unknown
But it’s, like a dog when its owner has died.
Breaking down of many moments
Created between days and nights
Where nightmare and illusion came together
To converge in the human plexus
That without giving them sense will offer them shelter.
The yellow and the black
As there is no restrained crying
For a handful of true kisses
When all of them already departed
Leaving as a reminder only
The teeth images are biting something more.
That they overturn the appointment of their certainty
That they open from the plastic the hopes to the top
That in its own order admits and enjoys disorder
Of that someone who will end embracing without delicacy
The same pillow on which will not sleep who pretends.
That appears before dawn
That under the belly but above the eyebrows
What he stretches while smiling
Wanting but not happy.
That in a relative pronoun
It is forked without pretending
Leaving signs at the end
As if the beginning were so simple
Just like reading a book
And then telling
To one who wants to know
To be able to say what he knows
And not to pursue
As does the one who converts a lot into a little
For a waiting that he knows is another
But that bears her name
As you feel better when you are just passing.