The words were wasps
And the streets like dunes
When I'm still waiting for you ...
In a coffin I keep your touch and a crown
With your matted hair
Wanting to find an infinite rainbow
My hands that are still bone
And your belly tastes like bread
The cathedral is your body ...
You were summer and a thousand storms, I the lion
Who smiles at the walls
That I have repainted the same
Color
I can not distinguish between kisses and roots
I can not distinguish the complicated from the simple
And now you're on my list of promises to forget
Everything burns if you apply the right spark
The fire that was sometimes proper
the ash always foreign
white sperm sliding
down the spine
we are older and sincere,
what else
if we look at the 'lagoon'
as they call eternity
of the absence
I can not distinguish
between kisses and roots
I can not distinguish
the complicated of the simple
and now you are on my list
of promises to forget
everything burns if you apply
the right spark
the right spark ...
the right spark?
the right spark?
Only among all we can make this a better place :)