RODOLFO SERRANO: YA NO TE BUSCO
remember your smile often tired, and your skin
trembling and your frown.
The sweetness that then you had when you loved, when life was
your voice on the phone.
I imagine you and watch you as you were then:
a girl who was cutting the moon, that tender
laziness
all hotels and those hands, your hands, scratching my back.
I loved as only loves what
never be ours. And I love you with the same event,
the same frustration of an impossible future.
never made plans beyond that time. When
I close my eyes at night in another language
me that taste runs
ocean of your sex who lived and died in my mouth
with the salt of your sweat holy desire.
remember that you smoked cigarettes eagerly
and fear on Friday, media day Monday
and the way home. Your tears to go.
And that hand air brushed my face.
I want yet. And I will love you always and
with the same certainty with which this
now know that you will only be a memory, the beating heart
of looking left undone.
trembling and your frown.
The sweetness that then you had when you loved, when life was
your voice on the phone.
I imagine you and watch you as you were then:
a girl who was cutting the moon, that tender
laziness
all hotels and those hands, your hands, scratching my back.
I loved as only loves what
never be ours. And I love you with the same event,
the same frustration of an impossible future.
never made plans beyond that time. When
I close my eyes at night in another language
me that taste runs
ocean of your sex who lived and died in my mouth
with the salt of your sweat holy desire.
remember that you smoked cigarettes eagerly
and fear on Friday, media day Monday
and the way home. Your tears to go.
And that hand air brushed my face.
I want yet. And I will love you always and
with the same certainty with which this
now know that you will only be a memory, the beating heart
of looking left undone.
Morning has come full of tenderness and why it scares me to try to imagine the future of this day. Learn to enjoy the moment is not easy when you've memorized this dangerous game that is life. A poem by Rodolfo Serrano and a song by Josh Rouse ("fligth Attendant") have to believe that can still spring. How not to share with you! After reading this poem mouth discover the existence of many flavors that robs us of the existence. Happy Thursday.
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