I am driving but today the city smells
smog could be just so poetic.
I think about it
all, as I write these lines for you.
I am my own ink, yours
it doesn't feel the same.
As I think about you, my breath
blurs the car's window.
Fingers gliding over the cold crystal and over
you were here
and wishing you
would press your lips against my skin.
justif. I needed to feel something so I thought about
you doing things to me.
the avenue and the momentums that make up this very same moment in time.
Do not worry;
They are footnotes in our biographies