The Spinning of the Night Inside Out
The Spinning of the Night Inside Out
She asked me: "Where have you been, blue love?"
"Nowhere but in your green sorrows of youth,
Always comfortable in the winter of your day today,
Always postponing the spun spinning of nights inside out."
She told me: "You're not here, amor, you're absent present,
While my heart is yours, a familiar stranger,
And my beats are living echoes of your silence,
Full-empty rhythms that dance in the motionless hora."
"Let me ask and you answer me with mute words,
And if it's too hard, give up easily the weight.
Why are your eyes blue like the green of autumn?
Seems they carry a dry river of liquid pain,
And I want to dive into the deep surface.
To swim through all your solved problems,
Even though I might survive by losing myself,
Even though my life becomes the death that births me.
Your lips look cute in this solar night,
What lip gloss do you wear on your face of soft stone?
Because they shine like the darkness lit by moon,
I want to kiss them once in the eternity of the moment,
Even though I'll receive gift-troubles for my gesture,
It's fine, it's perfect this gentle savage catastrophe.
All to trouble your green of youth,
To graft the dead-alive love onto your chosen slush from US,
Our ironic couple of civilization's electronic soul,
A thousand and two nights with me to spend them, if you can,
Disowned by grandchildren who will someday be ashamed,
That they dared to have been born: by you never,
All to be the perfect imperfect version,
The one you search for running into the shadow of your light."
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