Everyday before dusk turns to dawn, I read a couple of poems in my bed time, I also write a couple of poems before I close my eyes, and I arrived to a possible conclusion that...
It is the silence of the night: the muse that speaks in lullabies, and seduces me to write, even when the contents of the poems have nothing to do with my life. I feel posses. In a trance. As if am dancing in a dream where words are the waltz: the music that moves me into his arms. that makes me gaze into his eyes. as if we were in a ballroom. Dressed in metaphors. Highlighted by the moon. Gyrating with our thoughts. Having the night of our lives,