Sick With Sore Tongue

dead knock on my heart. The dim room light sentences numbs the longest night of my life. The quiet listening behind the curtain. Asleep sobbing that accelerate my desire to awaken.
The warm skin of a lover rubbed her cheek against death. The shade of a tree shelter where the hope of a new day. Years nonsense, days without respite, where roadblocks continue traveling the trail of a lost soul into oblivion. Castilian
old to love. Bad times for romantic evenings in the flowery garden of my heart. I drag my eyes to the horizon and I pray to silence my sorrows in this warm August afternoon.