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(*Julieta Venegas)
I will not go near your garden*
I will never touch your flower,
The fantasy that it gave me is better,
Your slight closeness and its color.
You never suspected the metaphor,
And what it can achieve,
You will never understand its softness,
Of what it does not know where it is going.
I prefer platonic loves,
Consolation for lonely fools,
I prefer impossible loves,
Consolation for having lost too much.
And so,
With your image I will leave,
Hand in hand with having desired you So much so,
Better,
I unsheath a melody,
To honor your fantasy.
I prefer platonic loves,
Consolation of lonely fools,
I prefer impossible loves,
Consolation for having lost too much.
I prefer platonic loves,
Consolation for lonely fools,
I prefer impossible loves,
Consolation for having lost too much.