Bolero

The set design
of your apartments
a dark sacristy of theatricality...
The diplomacy laundry
of my clarifications
usual amnesia of tranquility...
The stage directions
of your attitudes
sacred liturgy of formality...
The autobiography encyclopedia
of my changing torments
meteorology of stubbornness
and cowardice...

And we kiss there
above the stage
of the last supper of those who will betray...
And one more time
we kill passion
inside a car in the ravine
we push it down but...

We are always here
stories in black and white
where we only have
a fixed role as extras
in the lines of a bolero
and everything else is a farce...

We came here
foreign faces
in this obscene scene
to not do without it
another round of bolero
and another sip of poison...

The x-ray
of my oaths
vague prophecy of pettiness...
The choreography chosen symmetry
of your disturbances
naked rhapsody of sinuosity...
The upholstery
of my regrets
weak parody of maturity...
The chinoiserie microsurgery
of your feelings laments
pure mastery of fragility
and tyranny...

And if my heart
stops at the border
to show off your vanity...
Because I am also there
among your ivory trinkets
to play the repertoire
of an eternal farewell but...

We are always here
locked in a mystery
that love is everything
is all we know
about love which is the bolero
in which we move...

We will be here
between the false and the true
good and evil
when we fly
typing one and zero
in a virtual reality
or counting the time of a bolero...