Absinthe

Nothing to fear

An imprint on my mind, on these barely lit eyes I still keep track of that old phantom, that old mist around our souls. I still see it when I believe I am asleep, even when I believe I am awake.

I know I am never awake. I can't wake up yet, not without touching the red funk of Amsterdam once again. Or many times again, I wouldn't mind at all.

But even as I open my eyes, choking and gasping for moldy water, I can hear your eyes closing. Yes, those closed eyes, always so perfect for sighing deeply in the warm darkness just beneath the sky covered in grey drapes. But there is nothing to fear: I do not hold dreams anymore.

Now I make them happen before the world's eyes.

But now, it's pucho time.

publicadas por Germán @ 7/29/2006 12:17:00 p.m.