De Cuando Estuve Loco

From when I was crazy, I still keep the loony card in my wallet, a detailed map of hell, a sky with piranhas and leaks, a record at the police station, a jar of colorful pills, the letter with which you said goodbye, various remedies against the love sickness. Now I'm heading south to settle down, ignoring other cardinal points and the Sun imprisoned on the terrace. I'm heading south looking for your spiral kisses. I leave behind kilometers of outskirts, air to breathe, red lights. Towards where your nipples point, I'm speeding up on the bike. From when I was crazy, I still keep a couple of grams of delirium in branch, in case the sane attack with their reason and a strong wind of tramontana; the vice of writing on the walls love verses, and the obsession of looking for you among all the women who keep me company in low moments. When I touch your petals, a water lily surviving in stagnant waters, sparks fly, the wires cross, the mercury rises and the alarm goes off. I crave you, forcing me to keep you in red envelopes, freeze-dried, to take you in short sips where the dawn hurts. I'm writing to you from a service area where they only offer me gasoline. You can call me collect from the payphone on the corner.