Cicatrices

Scars, those that can be seen,
when there's light that undresses you,
when there's wine, when there's salt,
when there's rage that suffocates you,
when the kiss is deadly,
in the rivers of my life,
melancholy starts walking again.

Scars, those carried by your mouth
for kissing other mouths,
for loving you, nothing else.
Scars are the hours
that come with death,
they are the wine that suffocates you,
the corners of pain.
Scars are the hours
that go down to the vertex
of the water.

The days leave us marked by the days,
marked on the chest, the neck, the mole,
the hours mark us, they tell me to look
at how many scars I must understand.
The world cuts my desire into pieces
to drink the fear,
the sky stitches you back up.

Scars, fear of losing everything,
sanity, the minutes, the lung to breathe
a minute without censorship and without silences,
without shots, without regrets don't stop licking me.
Scars when there's wine that suffocates you in the corners,
when there's rage that undresses, when the kiss tastes like salt.
Scars are the hours that go down to the vertex of the water.