Your skin is bluebehind your head are butterflies
blowing particles of moon.
You have a blues soul!
your orange shadow hugs my cotton arms.
Your fingers keep the pleasure of the sky,
but in the rings aroung my eyes is stopped the time.
Este es mi espacio, el sitio que tiro palabra para que los pajaros de mi conciencia se alimenten, cuando no haya mas libros que leer, volviendo otra vez a su nido rico en alimento de invierno. But dont trust too much my winter, because winter always is limited by the hot sun.
