Labios de Cafe
Salta La Banca
Coffee Lips
Everyone knows, I’ve got salt on my skin.
With a breath, I bring down peace and the shelf.
And I still believe that happiness I once touched,
The afternoon I kissed her coffee lips.
She’s a kind of special brew.
A sip from her belly washes away your pain.
Her walk wreaks havoc on all the fans.
A gaze like oil that calms my anxiety.
She’s a candombe, a reggae dub, a carnival.
She’s a holiday, Good Friday, a spring.
My cindor, my pastries, my cookies, and my bread.
My music, my lyrics, my guitar, and my song.
Her chest holds what has made me so happy.
Her mermaid breasts Dalí wanted to draw.
Her plush heart Joaquín wanted to win.
Acting in parallel, they color the future.
My life, a bit dead, has come back to life through her drive
To find my misfortune, charging with her cruelty.
The bed we warm, and it doesn’t matter which,
Will be the place where we’ll always take off.
To fly higher is truly impossible.
There’s no one who could take me on an astral trip,
Like my girl does, undressing a heart
That places me deep in the lobby of the Sun.
She’s a candombe, a reggae dub, a carnival.
She’s a break, a long weekend, sand and sea.
My cindor, my pastries, my cookies, and my bread.
My music, my lyrics, my guitar, and my song.
