The wind caresses the memories
between the folds of a sigh:
who was knocking at the door who will
and looking in the mirror
I wonder if I see who I am.
Perhaps an angel, perhaps a demon,
flesh cut away from the soul in torment
a long night, almost without end.
are a bride without a wedding garment,
that shrugs arms
cold sheets of crumpled
laying on a bed never consummated.
I see an image of a gypsy heart
stories begging vagabond
in heels of shoes worn
walking barefoot
on the deserts of snow tires.
I see in your hair the flavor of sea pearls
that slip away between shots
tooth comb,
leaving nineteen knots
linked to the deepest part of me
in memory of my existence.
The twentieth melts between those teeth
chewing muffled cries of why.
And the sense of things is lost
the sighs of memories.
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