Bro,tell me please
To your heart's content
Enjoying a French kiss
In squeezing out
The nectar of their lady-hood
Not remiss,
Are the lasses
A cigarette
For a while you keep
By your chest
To burn them to ashes
And ignominiously
Squash them down
Under your heels?

the horrible thing about having a platonic love is that in the end, her gonna end like a idiot to you, or just one insensible *******, or another adjective that falls in the category of someone who hurts you so bad that you will wish that you wont become closer with anyone else, but hey, this is life and there are others things that are way horrible than that, a platonic love isnt that bad, the case is that you make the person more than your live will ever woth and you cant ignore that but  you cant see that, at least so clear that you will recognize that as a mistake and you keep going on, thats why i just gonna end all here, not my love for you but my life, because my life without you isnt life at all

On the dawning horizon, Barcelona.
Above us, a quiet storm rages.
A meter away, Isabel,
with her abyssal draw-well eyes,
Silence as her name,
catapults for legs.

Your name, nothing more.
Your past and life, trivial.
Only your name was important
and I obtained it: Isabel.
It was but a physical infatuation,
completely platonic and surreal.

You with the draw-well eyes,
and gold ingots for hair,
with Silence as your name,
and catapults for legs;
I shall learn your name today,
I shall forget your face today.

Your draw-wells' potable water
will flow down your cheeks,
and your hair's gold will devalue,
and your mouth's silence will speak,
and your legs' wood will break;
nothing but your name shall remain.

You, with the draw-well eyes,
I know not who you are,
I do not know where you're from,
but I could scrutinize your eyes,
as abyssal as water wells,
for a whole eternity, and more.

You who prance and dance
to any and every rhythm,
I long to know everything about you,
discern your likes and dislikes,
fathom all your insecurities
and make you forget them.

You whose look spans
all seven seas and the four winds,
stare at me forever,
penetrate my self as light does.
Make me feel unique, as if the world
turned around me, around you.

You with the draw-well eyes,
grant me the pleasure
of knowing who you are,
where you come from and are going to;
allow me to study those eyes
for one, two, three eternities.

I
The remains of love we left behind render the wisdom of our tears,
just like a bomb in the heart, a beating, a bound, a lightning in the sky...
we expect something from this world. Maybe not.
These visions of grim and obsolete grief believe in my particular way to solve these dreams;
What is happiness but a dream?
A slumber composed by attributes of trembling fishes and sad cats.

II
I hear someone yelling at my shadow, telling me that she was there all along, and I did not notice before.
She was like a lament, lovely spreading like a plague;
her motion reminds me of a quite afternoon in the meadow, chamomile tea and snacks of honey;
her eyes were just like stones, falling right into my lungs,
her hair... O Lord! It was like a galaxy, another milky way surrounded by the same amount of black holes the time ever gave, that hair consumes what is left of my personal reality;
the mass of Jupiter, the sleep of Saturn, the mystery of Kuiper belt,
There was no other chaos in the universe so beautiful as her,
because she is allowed to destroy everything we know and reset the laws of the universe, and guard the old Earth within the echoes of a distant dying star, which happens to be the jagged legacy of my youth.
But not in her space, not her planets, only her own rules of the cosmos that serve to herself and herself only,
specially everytime she sings to the sea.

III*
If I could judge the taste of her voice, it's unlikely to state, it's like a new kind of lemon dessert, or sinking the bare hand in a sack of beans;
She is the last incarnation of Galatea, this beautiful machine.
That's what she is. That's why I fell in love with her.
Aurora borealis, Horse Nebula, Andromeda and Zeta Reticuli, from Cassiopea to the depths of Aldebaraan, standing between Ursa Major and Betelgeuse. That is the measure of her spirit, so warm and cozy;
like the lap of a mother during the war, the careful walk of a cat in the night, the eyes of a giant squid, the joints of a china doll, the dust long settled in a basement abandoned 28 years ago.
The last otherwordly dream duel for the fate of humanity, and the conquest of the spirit, that brave and savage impureness we call soul.
I think I know what she is:
another way to die unkown to life standars, my hopeful unrequited love,
that's what she is,
carries destruction in every step, and gives life back with a smile,
she is imposible, she is perfect, she'd never be mine, but she's somewhere in this dream
and that's fine with me.

Love is not
By fair means or foul
Meeting ones end,
But it is the negative good
Care to the beloved is ensured!