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a wet street is not similiar to rain
but it's a sign that it has rained
fever's not flu
but it's a sign
i woke up with my hands soaked in wine
and begging you two things:
1- excess
2- not going home
can we have only first dates where we can always be
anyone else?
can we exchange habits?
close my eyes between your legs
i love burnt bread, black coffee and butter
and swimming through time towards time
like in a midnight carless highway
fever's not flu;
it's desire's errands
it's a trip you tell no one
it's a page or a screen.
it's a sign,
how would you describe it?
is there something stranger than kindness?

i woke up with an idea in my tongue:
let's play a song that remind us of us.
let's call it a quest.

my dear, my darling one.
it started out as an apology
and ended up as a misty and sweet
winter garden.

what do fireflies sing in the dark?
your skin crash landed on my skin,
a bottle of gin and two tons
of self driven fingertips and all-ins.

nothing never really mattered
nothing never feels new
never any different.

i thought i knew better
-i thought i was really sorry-
i thought i knew bitter.

this is my dream, but if you don't like it
i have better ones.
buy me some.
i'm just building a house a brick per day.
somehow.

it's been a long time.
that's why they call it No-Leather-Shoes-Holiday.
take these before we run away.
kind of empty by the way.
we're getting abandoned faster and faster.
shadows cover,
partially, somewhat
but no completely,
every corner of
the street.
every corner of
the soft dying
buildings.
however, it's late.
late in the afternoon.
orange sky filling
feelings.

after all, day's coming to an
end.

deep shadows cover
the parade:
tumult of people observing,
walking,
coming to an
end.
life.
routines dripping down
her thighs.
like a minor chord.
poetry of the suburbs,
universe, verse to verse:
concrete, smoke, some beers,
cigars, history, wine,
news.
life.

shadows cover,
almost totally
but not completely,
the crying eyes
of this wrecked,
self-sustaining,
senseless city.
#J
One drink, you think.
Not bad, you drink.
One more, right up.
Two drinks.
Hurry, you think.
Deep breath, you drink.
Third drink.
And fourth forth drink,
alcohol this night
will **** me, i think.
Not bad, you drink.

Barefoot baring burden, in the street again.
Fifth drink, you flirt, you drink.
The naked bottle, hiding in-a corner,
burning, trying to be.
(desperate).
Willing to see.
Six drinks and
*** things.
One more, before night.
I think:

To death we┬┤ll drink.
In life we'll sink.

The glass broke,
and in a soft warm mist,
i think:
not bad, to drink.
she' mad but she' magic.
there' no lie in her fire.
You, smile melting into music.
You, smile singing near my ears.
Far away, facing lonesome
season.
I have nowhere to go,
but i know we'll meet in dreams.
That's our secret.

Tender eyes and
perky *****.

You, night swaying in between days.
You, a woman's face in a porcelain body.

Can a bird, when in love,
sing across oceans and mountains
to confess his heartache?

Can you remember
our first kiss?

Sun, rain, moon, heat.
Still awake, or deep asleep.
I know we'll meet in dreams,
and i certanly know i'll find
those
tender eyes and
perky *****.
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