were sweet as the autumn sun, is a trite metaphor, I know, but there is another that fits better to define yourself in one sitting.
we were content with the price of film, we talked about the virginity of peanuts, we would put a coat, looked at the source.
remember you were like four-leaf clover, poetry sprang from all the trees and I did not reached the hands to catch the muses on the fly, but Luckily they were yours, your hands tell you that swift and appropriate stamped a verse on my leg, then I carefully put him away in his pocket and went home happy because I knew that this would be a good night to write.
was so nice to share with you this evening and final embrace was always less than promised and vice versa.
I do not know look, when was it that fell the first card of our tower, I do not remember if it was a clumsy dancing wind or we will kill unintentionally a cricket and you know, those curses are dramatic.
know that I do not reach the leaves to mourn, I miss you with name and park bench. and over, it rains so much.
illustration: Francisco German.
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