Esta Primavera

Spring takes so long
that I will forget it was yesterday,
when its tree emotion returns
I won't remember to bloom.

I will confuse your breasts with its song
and instead of singing, I will kiss you
your body will seem like a suicide to me
and by fertilizing it, I will die.

I will never know if I am happy
if wonderful or terrible,
and I won't know what ends
or just begins or the impossible.

This spring could drive me crazy.