De Espaldas A Mi

It was my best disguise
but it has become
an artificial skin
I called the elevator
to be able to descend
to the edge of another age.
Until ten, until six,
until the fifth year
to the school chalk,
to my love in a notebook
where there were no masks
or desire to lie.
My throat learned
a way of living
with my back turned
it was just a matter
of knowing when to laugh
of knowing how to pretend.
Slices of freedom,
cups of loneliness
is what I give of myself
is what I give of me
thirty years without
an ounce of maturity?
There is a better world
if I look back
to the French school
next to the station,
and to that winter
when I met you.