love a loud

I've forgotten your body, woman, I've forgotten that woman's body, it's hidden away. The smile of your body is gone. I've forgotten the scent of your skin, I'm in the middle of the desert with a flower on my shoulder; but I can't find water for it, nor for its skin, nor for its lips, nor its body. The clock ticks, and the same body that filled my pantry with love has gone away, I've forgotten that body, I seem to have buried love in a deep hole. Imaginary passion touched me, while I sang to love, it was leaving, disappearing, carried away by the river, I've forgotten your body, woman, the scent of your skin keeps me awake at night and I'm afraid. I've forgotten affection, your skin is far away, there's no more singing, only laughter, and I'm in a cage holding back my illusions. I've forgotten your womanly body; you don't express yourself, you don't look, you don't smile. Your eyes are fading, no longer triumphant. The happiness that filled you is slipping away, and there's an obstacle, a stone in the path. I've forgotten your womanly body; you've forgotten to fight, to see, to value, to feel. To forgive. And to listen. Pride has already won in your thoughts; it has faded into the night, only the memories of love remain. I've forgotten your womanly body; nothing remains, everything is fading, despair floods my body. I have to jump from the precipice and abandon that beautiful rose that was your body, which I haven't seen in a long time and which you shared. I've forgotten that everything is short, that I breathe your essence, and that when I leave it, the box will be empty—mine, because I don't know about yours; there's always the compass that seeks the horizon. I've forgotten your body, what can I do? There's no will to touch it again. I watch it from afar. I've forgotten your womanly body, and I'm in a void that's consuming me, where the clock ticks. It won't be too late; I know I've already lost, and I'm waiting for a completely withered leaf to be reborn, which won't happen. I've forgotten your body; nothing remains. I can only touch the air, and each time I lose everything completely… I'm resigned, and that's not justice in the time I have left. The clock will never stop; my own body will be consumed. And when I wake up, others will smile, and I'll be by the side of the road, still thinking of you. Autor luis carlos zamora cano Derechos Reservados