It's Not The Same Air When You're Far Away,
Is Not The Same Invisible Brume,
Even The Mood Of The Moon Looks Dense,
And Mi Hands Don't Stops Of Searching You,
My Words Want To Be Hearing By You,
I Want To Keep Your Scent In My Breathe.
And The Night Is
A Venerable Old Woman
That Every Moon's Time
Die Like A Cestrum Noctornum:
That Line Of The Time
When I Miss
The Shape Of Your Voice,
The Rhythm
That Rides In Yor Skin,
Some Notes
That Comes Inside Your Sternum.
That Old Woman
Looks Young,
Living Proud Her Divinity,
With Dark Eyes,
Dark Hair
Wtih The Smile Of The Clouds,
And That Clime On Her Blood
Sounds Like A Secret,
With Your Saxophone Voice.
With The Sun Upon You
I Can Take The Time
To Watch Carefully
All The Poem Of Your Ways,
And The Night
Of Your Weite*
Cant' Be That Sweet Galaxy
That Use To Be
When You're Around Me.
I Miss You
In All The Pieces
Of My Humanity.