It’s been quite a while
since I’ve been able
to float on word-clouds,
impregnate them with
cascades of each day’s
flavor and fervor,
overweigh them with
tasteless scentlessness.
Colorless pours of
impartial pallor
fall onto mute cords,
long silenced from drought,
flush them with new hues
of ground, unbolting
boundless blushing blooms.

you know that to everything there is a end,
That there are thousand questions sent to the air,
A labyrinth of which never salts,
If you fall into the hands of the love...
You will feel that until the immense sea,
It will be a drop that overwhelms your anxiety,
It will be a light that illuminates the soul to you,
It will be the thorn and the pain...
It feels the shelter of the solitude,
It feels the bitter one of which one goes away,
When the reason is lost...
LOVES that are born, fleeting loves,
That they hurt so inside,
With thousand faces and a same memory...
Cowardly LOVES, loves that do to you
To live in a dream and to prove every night desire...
To undress our fragility,
There are so many forms to say I want to you,
In a sigh secrets keep,
That engravings in the heart go....
Where the kisses will go at random,
They are feelings that go and that come,
It is the impulse that nobody stops,
And it pledges fire to the passion...
It feels the shelter of the solitude...
LOVES that are born...