La Carta

Heart on the eve of whatever you want,
jealousy rooted in my roads,
fear of the chord of the priority,
absent eardrums, mouth of punishment and love of calvary.
Duel of titans without bed or pillow,
the curfew of my early mornings,
all my head, except the one that thinks,
is the owner and lady of the uncontrollable that stiffens.
Marquise de Sade, painting a future
of love of linings, eating stale bread.
All company in present and future,
old and wrinkled, looking at Granada from the Albaicín.
Everything I want is in this letter,
that my love demands and is yet to come.
Heart on the eve of whatever you want,
take away two tones, give me spring.