The Patrician
The lips that already had kissed the love of the Patrician, free small words odourless. The drunkeness washes the direction that any another one, interpretation, looked for to find among the impregnated hlito of one aguardente that better it uses to sarar the wound who teima in decorating to it of scarlet that flectido knee exaggerated times. The Patrician knows the meaning of that sensation. He is as well as if he could repeat a word, in as that he follows yourself to the hour to go even so and to know of color the reply that heard more times. Because he was he himself invented that it, and the courage to make that question the same knows the bitter taste that wounds the dry one now that it drags in its lips.
Insurance with fear. It sufficiently trembles when hearing the sounds that do not obtain to understand and discover in the appendices of its arms, the shelter that it looks in the emptiness. Perhaps I hug exactly it that it was being postponed. Nothing of what it has it today it seems better of what what can dream to possess, when tomorrow will be that moment to know everything what it could have conquered. Of the hands that then to tremble, the green eyes hardly will be able to judge any movement that not to understand, stops beyond an absurd necessity to feel the flavor of one I hug In the green of its eyes, will have who swears to see them great, as if they could rival two nuts, lost inflamed, as an shout when it unmasks the mystery of the sadness that if finds too much has time in an undertow that if it was preventing. The green eyes despertam passion. Also they know to say when it is time to be alone and the hands still to tremble and the head that does not stop to hang, make all the will to the legs that follow an invented way of improvised steps.