He has painted the Neighborhood ...
With the color of melancholy.
That copper color, expressing,
wandering nostalgia.
Your eyes appear to me clear,
and a stop at the threshold of your home.
The network perplexed trace memory,
this emerging darkly woven fabric ...
Today, my rushes past me,
And you "transcribed" in music ...
Only, it became the "chip"
involved our experiences ...
Shadowing, took the baton,
and today I "spit", ancient glories ...
As always you that Tango "additional"
when I caress the soul ...
With small doses of praise,
I paint, your fun silhouette.
I feel closer than ever
even if you're in the confines of a star.
Your love of youth,
still with me.
Is that "transmuted", my troubles with perks
providence in my very poor ...
It was in the large courtyard of your home ...
Usurped with "velvet rozas" ...
Where we both had our first embrace,
penalty that moved, without my space.
Your absence is like precious gold cups,
That each time both the full.
You always were a flower without destination,
crouched in my life ...
I reach ... to listen to your fine words ...
Telling me that everything was worth it.
As the virginity of an occurrence,
that at the time, I collapses ...
Already in my human ... no hurry ...
Cynical, emergency on my "palette" ...
I'm painting in my memory as a "goddess" ...
Bella ... shy ... and as always ... excessive ...
Daniel H Guasti
pisulinoal@yahoo.com.ar
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