Perfums of the pink acacia,
a moon crowned with lips of fires.
the silent vision of some bodies,
in a flowery bridge.

Images,
intimate secrets,
breezes of aromas,
destiny  of time.

A good body does not age quickly,
everyone knows.

Song of the night to the light,
shine of eyes without light
howls of loneliness,
and only a small pain.

The memories spill,
sneak in the sand,
and for tomorrow........
no traces

And the raging winds will roar.

There is nothing more visible than what is not.