A Media Luz

Three four eight Currents,
second floor, elevator;
no doormen or neighbors
inside, cocktails and love.
A little place set by Maple,
piano, mat, and lamp...
a phone that answers,
a jukebox that cries
old tangos of my flower,
and a porcelain cat
so it won't meow at love.

And everything in dim light,
for love is a sorcerer,
in dim light the kisses,
in dim light the two...
And everything in dim light,
inner twilight,
what soft velvet
is the dim light of love.

Juncal twelve twenty-four,
don't hesitate to call;
in the afternoon, you with snacks,
at night, tango and love;
on Sundays, you dance,
on Mondays, desolation.
There's everything in the little house:
pillows and couches
like in a pharmacy... coconut,
rugs that make no noise
and a table set for love...