"Complicity, confidence, desire, inspiration... words to build love. In the phrases of the night after making love is possible to find synonyms (trust, faith and motivation, may be... but there are a difference between inspiration and motivation, and more between abetment and complicity or desire and a simply wish ... more than like and love. So, how to write the story about the love quest? It is not a question about the "real love" or " "true feelings". The story is about the own beliefs. It's the second time I tell you that I love you, by saying goodbye. And you repeat it. However the pain, the power of the next journey and the memories of the last night, when I was in you as a prayer to break the fear and the time. It is impossible to blame this weekend of September, but nevertheless, without any love song our lips were sufficient for the Saturday and our body for Sunday.
In the stories, she cycled like that thorn does not allow to enjoy the presents. Sadness in songs and names are forbidden to name, nevertheless the new stories appear on trips in a desperate act to live. May be in a night, not Today, the eyes of the promise appear to remember the possibility of the trustworthiness to face the world in the big battle and now, it is the time of the new names. The third song is the song to sleep and to sense the lips of the other worlds. Forest and freedom and the stars in a night without moon (not yet, but soon, the moon will be here to remember the poems of the humans). It is not a question of a terrify tale of solitude, it is the story of our bodies exploring pleasure in confidence, without love, almost one time before of the morning with the departure time arrives in Sunday.
Sea and clouds. The landscape of a departure when the freighter ships arrive whit trinkets and they leave loaded with riches from these lands as they have done for centuries at the cost of the local people misery and their blood sometimes. In any case, they defend their oppressors en masse. Not for ignorance but by simple stupidity, people being complicit in his own ruin. Not for love or motivation, but fed with the hate of their misfortune. The same that gives poverty and fear and an insupportable wish of vengeance against themselves. This place would be more bearable if you were with me and I with you (really). Resistance is about the two, together, but the complicity is not trustfulness because our tale was desire and treason. Of course, always it is possible to relativize in convenience to justify decisions. Of course, it is possible to stay in the same convenience, stable, distrusting in front of each other but without the possibility to conquer this world together. Just to have sex and sometimes to find in our eyes the sadness due that our history could be different, with an only decision. Once a time in the caribe.
When the words are organized in irrational manifestos at same time that the Earth tries to defend itself, the humans follows the esoteric explanations to put aside its responsibility. In the fragility of these nights, every death is a possibility of salvation... this affirmation is not true, but for the simple people is sufficient to raise prayers for an ultraworld... the world of the innocents where it is not possible to have any guilty. Here, they are responsible and the condition of responsibility for the acts is unbearable. I don't know the perfect man. But yes, I recognize my debilities and basic instincts. Same instinct that tell me not, the same think that tell me, yes, If I'm called guilty, let it be for something, time after time. Human after all. I crying your betrayal at same time that I walk other shadow bodies, in other Septembers. Crying I in the floor escaping the heat of my mind, the cold of my chest.
Reality is a switch in a wall, the sweat on the back and the sensuality of a night in silence. Inspiration for lips and silhouettes not far from the sea in a night with the liberating moon. Saturday or Sunday the exactly day is not important because the poem is written with body fluid inks and the body macabre papyrus. Reality is jalousie and satisfaction. A moment of liberation, a moment that may disappear in seconds but for a lot of days will be remembered in song writings. Yes, our lyrics are the wailing during sex and few words of love face to the Caribe. Sometimes far... too far in the Andes in a bizarre sundown. For those reasons I ignore this September during years but the civilisation and its weaknesses tend to catch. Lead on during a night after the silence."
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