You do well to go away from the painted walls
they know your shoulders,
your kisses, our looks.
You do well, you touch the ceiling:
you have blue in the face.
You are doing well, never trust yourself
not even if you get stars
because for every miracle
there is its correct answer.
You are doing well, never trust
the sea and the sand.
Years ago this story
would have invited me
to spit on the sacred customs,
the family, the soup ,
to put white ribbons
on the skin of defeat.
But I know it is hard
to leave a clear love for a dark one.
You are doing well to go away
to the Palace of the Brides,
to the collective buffet,
to the hearse playing,
announcing to the city
the almost melody
of your first night of love
in cold blood, my friend.
You are doing well, this Sunday
by leaving and not showing up
the building is full
of dreams to fall into.
You are doing well, let your hair
as you see fit.

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