Look at me. I have my side soaked with these sparks melting away so many veiled winters. There’s ivy in the songs I listen to at nights and that thin line that separates (interpreting us) the want for each other from the want to ravish one another.
I don’t know. Nostalgize me. Let’s go back to blinks and look at us right before you end us... “Able or unable?” Madrid was burning yet there was a kiss in which we didn’t care about dying in flames.
Take out the camera and capture this: The Moon cries as well knowing it will never be able to reach the wolf.
One of Chris Pueyo’s poems from his poetry book “Aquí dentro siempre llueve” (“Here Inside Is Always Raining”). The author is a talented young Madrid student, a fresh writer, with poetic and musical approach to life. Own translation by me. My translation of selected poems of his: N*3