Caffe latte
sunday morning no rush after
resident of the white hour
endless minutes spent on laughter.
You in the doorway
with your old luster
Yerba mate in your veins eyes green standing firm like a dream
perfect disaster
like a substitute for what’s about to happen
worth to question
what’s it all for?
Will your tenderness be the embrace of the summer and its grace
down the roads
of desert worlds
only sand no water ponds
just one road
headed to
Heavens’ floor
or how you call
that one place where I belong with you.