In the sun, looking at you,
Seeing you as a part
Of me, the part
You always will be.
You hide and my eyes
Find your soul and I see
A you that’s impossible
To hide. My lens is my
Window and behind,
The garden of You.
My daughter, my beacon,
My purpose.
A boatload of character and disrespect on this, my kid. An even more passionate version of myself. As if genetics played a joke on his soul at the time of conception. Don’t envy his passion, I know what a good dose of it can do to a person if used wrongly, only his youth and wonderment. Salud, hijo…
Why do I get the feeling that, no matter what happens to the cats, the one that goes down first is the fucking horse?
Love ain’t flowing,
Dry, empty husks,
Wall stains of
What’s been,
Indelible mark,
A timeline of
Nothingness…
An empty bottle of wine; seven empty chairs; a full ashtray; a wine stain on the tablecloth; a cork; a pack of napkins; no glasses… Inconclusiveness
