Remembrance of a Musician
I swear I never saw hands like yours,
not even silver is as bright and your nails talk no more.
Febrile philosophy that embrace me in a note,
organ made of skin and tears that my heart intones.
Your blessed hands taste like mango and smell of rose.
I swear I never saw hands like yours,
not even silver is as bright and your nails talk no more.
Melodic bohemian musician pierced with indolence,
songs use to breath but in your fingers they have drowned.
Metaphors deify you.
Lack of rhythm buries deep on the ground.
I swear I never saw hands like yours,
not even silver is as bright and your nails talk no more.
In cascade, I discovered the tune of your charm,
descending and treacherous as the path of a river;
of seduction for its glam was destruction in narcissus,
mirage like you in me,
like a deaf noise: fade and ephemeral.
I swear I never saw hands like yours,
not even silver is as bright and your nails talk no more.
A diamond of unique kind,
shines in your present life through your progeny.
You breathe her golden curls, her skin always sparkling;
and i only miss his absent glow,
always with my feelings arguing.
I swear I never saw hands like yours,
not even silver is as bright and your nails talk no more.
Low key that resonates in your isle,
floating when you exist and the nerons catch fire,
a moment to burn the bridge and to close the door behind you.
I swear I never saw hands like yours,
not even silver is as bright and your nails talk no more.
On a night like this, i had the eternal while sleeping,
my room was made a keyboard and his fingers are the ceiling.
I created the utopia of painting my spaces with everything I've loved,
and the dream was made a brush and the painting the hug.
I swear I never saw hands like yours,
not even silver is as bright and your nails talk no more.
Controversial whistle of a road always divided,
honey chills tuning each chord but relief is not invited,
decisions that are taken far from a drum;
love made of flute and piano, rosewood and ghosts.
N.G.O.