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Gin tonic,
a beat of ice,
one lemon piece,
one lost poem
flying
out of our
mouth
and sounds.
Of dreams,
music
and all the
love
we can
share around.
A glass.
Cristal?
A piece of life
tonic gin
and
ice.
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flowers are growing,
they are so lovely
in the sunny gardens
shinning our souls...
--To pick them?--
Oh no;
they look much better
near the garden's stones.
Ah!..The poetic
surrender!
The loneliness into our hearts
making the travel...
All those misteries of our soul
transformed
into words of lovely gold
discovered.
--Yes?--or maybe not.
Sometimes
all you can do is run
to a lonely desert
with no water.
Where all the flowers of the spirit
die into the desert stones,
like nothing.
Colored and dark
here are all the word's colours,
like rainbows flowing
or deserts ,
or paradise's lovers....
Flowers are growing,
they are so lovely
in the sunny gardens.
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