Matza Di Lourde

 

I bring the winds

Allowed

From the nooks and crannies where

if you hear the sea,

and, the faded colors in the

Foam Violence

they are selective memories,

My soaked love

in this salt, fruit out of season.

and you, in catacombs

of pleasure

you came to make me groan.

And jokingly you pointed at me

tomorrow.

On a démodé calendar

That time has scratched

Serious Game Died

on the lips,

When we forget

Smiles.

Selectively 

Also, March

those in which the soul

was filled.

And I download it.

Carpe diem.