A song that you
tones of the evening and early-morning serenades. Anda
crossing her poncho
the sky on his shoulders. Shine your figure floating
as a song wrapped
in flower dress.
We claim the jacaranda and the rose china,
the sound of the train at the bottom of the street;
glow in color noise and looking
nobody pays attention
where she plants the seeds of its presence.
The cool mornings of joy
is a longing to sit back.
afternoon Love songs sung in broken voices
and shades and flowers.
There is sun on the good life, no brightness
fire from above.
And even in the darkest corner
who has been through to get here,
pockets I found myself in the joy of a dream
that although fuzzy, has not never be stopped.
Even in silence, more tears. I hope this prudence
save us from the old mistakes. Hopefully
keep pace
only be a good story to remember the exploits
and enlarged over the years, just by counting
much.
is heard walking sandals,
scraping the uneven brick sidewalk.
And hear, air flight up my chest.
I perceive it when the sun in the afternoon I see.
I dare not sully the image of light invaded.
A cry of freedom in the middle of the salt
icy solitude.
The warmth of the lips that demarcate the sky
spellbound,
the rustle of leaves that happen in your book,
love flying on the walls,
the taste of your kiss,
the envy of the siesta, sun,
of rosewood and rose china ,
for not knowing the secret that she knows
when she smiles.
Photo: Madame, as captain for "Friday's Girls"
All rights reserved. 2009-2010 
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