The weather doesn't keep its promises
It rained and it was an August day
The wind knocked loudly on my eyes
The memory and then the asphalt
The sweat, a little of cold
on my wrists the heart and a padlock
I hesitated even on instinct
the run announced the gesture
arms open and still a lot of wind
wind..
my candle smells like the moon
the stylus is a memory of those poets
who gave meaning to day and night
to a tomorrow that I don't know now..
His lips and his hips
us and love, so tired
of looking back there ahead
He went up the slope with his thoughts
then I let myself fall in flight
the last breath and still wind
wind..
my candle dries my thoughts
the stylus is a memory of those poets
that gave meaning to day and night
to a tomorrow
my candle smells of wax
the stylus is here next to my keyboard
alone and in the dark it dies one night
Tomorrow will come and it will rain
yes I will rain, I will be reborn.

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