Nothing is mine, just the storm of the silences,

The absence of skin to skin it's confused.

Drop of light which is not exhausted.

The absence of that mysterious trace which forms you.

How many heartbeats exhausted? How many dying sighs?

The Hunger for your body remain, fire between passion and desire.

At the end of the evening nothing stays; An absence gap,

A bitter language of the words.

It's hard to withstand the gray days, everything hurts!

The sadness, your memory, the lonely absence of nights without you.

The Words are bitter, when they undress the nostalgia.

Nothing is mine; just this dying solitude in the silences.

The Tears in the eyes slim the autumn evenings.

How sad are the sighs!

Naked, surprised in your own solitude.

Nothing is mine, nevertheless; I got accustomed to the error of your kisses.

Life and death consuming the elixir of a few lips with poison.

How many heartbeats exhausted? How many dying sighs?

Nothing is mine, just the storm of silences. 

I've allowed to rest my ideas in this shadow which draw night.

It's true! I don't know who I am or what I want!

in sweet chaos, heavy is the sun and the night of our lives

What silences were discover in the music of the time?

Your voice is no longer my voice, your kisses are no longer our kisses

I ended hating the illusion, the waiting which languishes,

I ended hating the sigh which turns into fever, which doesn't vibrate.

You who told me "see you later, I'll return in the night"

You didn't return!

To live without your caresses, is feel a chaos in my skin,

To live without your words, is fall in darkness.

... If this is "Love" then I don't want it, I don't want to love this pain of not having you.

The darkness surrounds the loneliness,

Ethereal soul, observing the fragility of a body.

The eternity it's embracing what doesn't last,

human fragility in a heartbeat of life.

Shade of the thought by the path of echoes,

There are places which become air,

The dream disappears between two words: Bed and Body.

Bifurcation of the thought,

Between the conscience and subconsciousness,

The hour is a crystal ball where the thought is reflected.

Were the door of the death ever opened?

The light of the dawn is delayed,

An abyss is a memory which now invokes my words,

To see the time, it's to spell it:

the past, the present, the future; to live, to die.

Words mirror: I dream!

My words observe me from the abyss of the memory,

My lips are thirsty but the water, it's not drunk: it is read.

Interwoven dreams: Polymorphous, diverse and perverse.

The body and its gestures;

Embraced as a ghost in every thought.

I dream! But I'm the air in wind trees.

Fire invented and devoured by fire.

closed to the sun and to the looks in this night in which I'm sleeping. 

The hours are overwhelmed in the summertime, the dreams are dragged sleepy. A drop of water it dries over petals. The sadness it's walking, along the dry powder, and one forgets the time. A kiss slips with the echo. There's no rain which refreshes the uncertainty of a desire.

It's riding the Nights between what was and will not be; between what is and is not, between the today without yesterday. It rides the pain, vomiting the poverty, the uncertainty of a home without sun. The blood spilled between dream, debilitates to the heart with a dying scream.

No silence when it beats the time: Between your soft and fresh lips, in the endless yesterday of the today. Present, today, now! It shouts the city; ranting, one listens to the big bang of a pendulum; in a clock that it doesn't mark …, Nothing!

What ideas, what anxiety! Insomnia without nights, without finding the anxious arms of your body. few truths stay, between the death and the life; hugging in an agonizing desire.

To whom we owe pride?

I need someone who doesn't need me.

to write on her skin, broken words.

bits and pieces of the revived times.

The fresh sea breeze, intersperses the memoirs

The waves are dying ghost,

exhaling its last sigh on the beach

which cover with its froth, thoughtful conches.

How many days lived, how many forgotten memories

it's the first autumn in your eyes

where the lovers are falling asleep

without worn-out kisses and distant infancies.

so why to dream?

Nothing of what surrounds us is real

the night will be cut with a glass with wine

will be naked in the party,

will look for kiss of light,

and will fade away to the contact of the dawn.

While you dream, you'll not hear what you hope to hear,

the illusions, the symphonies, the words which bleed

you'll not see what you want to see,

only a hell of life, a broken illusion

an unreality foreign to you.

so why to dream?

The dreamlike images are a burning desire

You'll not embrace to whom you love,

absent woman! come sink into my dream

you are my nightmare.

I need someone who doesn't need me.

so, I'll be able to dream and in the dream, remember...,

to remember the void which you left in the bedroom

to remember your words as a bitter mirror.

And so, in the pride of my dream,

To forget ...,

to forget those days to your side;

and to forget my pride for not going to get you.

Which is the value of your scorn? I wonder.

When you must to speak …, you are quiet

When you must to be in silence …, you speak.

Say to me: Which is the value of your scorn?

In the moment that you drag the emotions to indifference sea.

If I kiss you..., a scorn arises,

If I don't kiss you..., an insult is born

If I exclaim I love you..., you don't listen

If I keep silence, you cry and shout.

Say to me: Which is the value of your scorn?

ready I'm, to pay the just price and to say good-bye.

If I write an idea and ask you to comment;

You keep silence and gather the insensitive frown

which is the value of your scorn? Say to me

I will give the just price and will reward something more.

If I stay away in an idea, chasing dreams,

You accuse negligence and claim my absence without delay

Little by little the waiting gets tired

Little by little the love resigns,

Little by little the indifference gets tired

Say to me: which is the value of your scorn?

Ready I am, to pay the just price and to say good-bye.

I love the shades! The way that mimics the shape of your arms. The shadow of a bare hands, fighting against fire winds.

I love the shades! In them a fragile tear erases, the tremulous light of a farewell. which returns, that goes away, which doesn't return.

I love the shades, because the life stops when I name you. In the light I don't find the words for to describe your absence. In the darkness I learn the meaning of love you.

Loneliness is an immense gap, between the body and the hands, which inhabit dark and smoky ruins. In the shades fall down the useless hours of the time, fall asleep and the world becomes small.

I love the shades, because in them it's burning these words, when the night it's dark and rough. In the nights always rests the existence, the dark boundaries of time.

I love you like yesterday, I will love you like today, and will follow you loving like the tomorrow. I will fill with dreams, as with rain a tree. In my dark ravings you always come back, there are no times, dark limits don't exist in my dreams.

Where is the word? Why has the silence broken? Don't let your eyes darken, denying me the light of the life. Next to you although far, you're absent; and only remain these shades which I love.

The days return with its hidden light,

White clouds slide on the sky.

Vague steam of solitary street,

Of tremulous air to the influence of tedium.

If your voice goes away without being a word

Solitude, give me a signal of your incessant origin

Full moon, round moon by the cold

Icy emotions, drowned in glass of wine.

Firefly in light of convicted moon!

If your voice goes away without being a word

rests in this space, your eyes and mine

Let's walk this street where inhabits the fog.

Mist of moribund winter, of naked spring.

We are going to surrender in the night,

To the river of sleep and mysteries,

Let your hands shelter the shadows

drain the ashes of the love between your fingers.

And there!, in the absence of your kisses

Firefly in light of convicted moon!

If your voice goes away without being a word

I will feel absent, confused.

Lost on night's border..., without your beats.

Woman! beautiful woman

Why you paint the face with a masquerade?

Why have you stopped being a natural woman?

With so many accessories that deform your face, hiding your beautiful being.

Perhaps, perhaps I'm a fool for loving your soul

but I can't stop loving it.

More and more hard to find it, in so many soft paint.

Where is your interior? woman!

by to find it, across your eyes

I have to take the paint off from your face.

I'm a fool lost in space, in the time

with pain in my heart, for longing.

your simple and clean nakedness.

Now, comes back home, to the house of your soul your interior woman.

Leave to the rainbow the colors; only he is natural.

returns to your woman's roots, leaves your plasticity.

You're a kaleidoscope of interior colors, a magic moment,

the origin of the life, the sunrise of every day,

the night with its beautiful melancholy.

Origin of my life, everything're you; woman!

There was no farewell!

For her, which in my soul I carry conceals.

For her, which does not arrive, and would not come.

There was no farewell!

because, in the calmness of my anxiety it has escaped.

There was no farewell!

Only fatigue of love, sadness, like ash of an extinct fire.

An idea suspended in the air is my last exile.

Out of my memoirs, already is night.

There was no farewell!

the ideas are flying fugitives, dragging me, like oscillating silhouettes.

What thirst I have of you!

Of your soft hands in the darkness of the night.

What thirst I have of you!

Of your look as star, like the moonlight, as sea in calm.

Awakened from this reverie, I'm still here!

As usual, an empty room,

Without your laughter, without your essence; without you!

What thirst have of you!