Seasons change their socks.
But eyes remain covered by clouds.
Between today and tomorrow
the screams from long
masks can be heard.
And life becomes sediment
at the bottom of the glass.
But you bring me love,
tender and delicate.
A body to pierce the
autumn days and nights.
And lips the colour of
a savage harvest.
An endless vacation for
me and my yellow lover.
A Wandering Poet 