What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?

The birds of night peck at the first stars that flash like my soul when I love you.

Love is short, but forgetting is long.

And our problems will crumble apart, the soul / blow through like a wind, and here where we live will all be clean again, with fresh bread on the table.

The Truth is in the prolouge. Death to the romantic fool., the expert in solitary confinement.

Tomorrow we will only give them a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf which will fall on the earth like if it had been made by our lips like a kiss which falls from our invincible heights to show the fire and the tenderness of a true love.

Joyful, joyful, joyful, as only dogs know how to be happy with only the autonomy of their shameless spirit.