Saying no, it would have been easier than hearing you say it. It hurts hard here in the heart, not that I did not expect it, not now, maybe never.
That's why I ask you this one last kiss. Not too long, not too short. Only of 37.5 seconds from the contact of my dry lips with the lead of lipstick in your fleshy mouth. Without preamble, more than hug under new conditions, soft, strong, intense, until I can feel your breath behind my left ear and your throbbing in my sternum pressed by your right nipple.
Without prejudice of what was, what was not, much less than what -know- will not be. That you look me in the eyes, with the once butterflies feeling, that we cry with the bones for what went away, for what stayed, for what -I suppose- We'll never know where it is.
That you lend me your lips today, for me, and that you take mine today in a bandage. Neither strong, nor soft, without language, not so much. I just want to feel the magic of your breath the chemical contact -That I know-which shakes your spine in lyre and shatters in the free fall of my timbales.
15 seconds To feel in your infaltable Chicle Clorets, The memory that existed before, before things were ruined -To win-. To ensure that your gaze chases me in the insomnia, your tender smiles, and your laughter, howling like the echo of Chiflones, Confused with the cries of lost fishermen, there in the intense darkness, where the Chilica.
15 seconds To confirm that no one can love -Or stop doing it- from night to morning, to evening, to night, to the other. To forget you between the legs of another girl, your moans with yours, to bury yourself in the halo of her belly and relive yourself in the kiss of her lips -This kiss-.
7 seconds To grow old with you, to remember that you still live, somewhere, and to forget that you are no longer with me -Not in my space- Yes, in my time. That you miss me, that you forget me, in your curls, with the dye that the moment wanted, with the gray that infallible exist. To touch you in the stone of my thorax, revive your nails by the rivers of my back, in the limit of the stroke, although you no longer exist.
Half a second For that day -Or the night- when the beat reaches the top, and right there, when the blood no longer feeds my capillaries, and my lips become dry, cold because they no longer live ...
You can feel, from this side -And the other- for the last and first time, the very sensation of this kiss.
Sorry for the children who wear the blog. It was without wanting to.