37.5 seconds of your last kiss

Saying no to you would have been easier than hearing you say it. It hurts hard here in the heart, not that I didn't expect it, not now, maybe never.

That is why I ask you for this one last kiss. Not too long, not too short. Only of 37.5 seconds from the contact of my dry lips with the lead of lipstick in your fleshy mouth. Without preamble, more than the hug under new conditions, soft, strong, intense, until I can feel your breath behind my left ear and your throbbing in my sternum pressed by your right nipple.

Without prejudice of what was, of what was not, much less than what -know- will not be. That you look into my eyes, with the once sensation of butterflies, that we cry with our bones for what left, for what remained, for what -I suppose- We will never know where it is.

That you lend me your lips today, for me, and that you take mine today as a bandage. Not strong, not soft, no tongue, not so much. I just want to feel the magic of your breath the chemical contact -That I know- That shivers your spine in lyre and is torn in the free fall of my timpani.

15 seconds To feel in your infaltable Chicle Clorets, The memory that existed before, before things were ruined -To win-. To ensure that your gaze chases me in insomnia, your tender smiles, and your laughter roaring like the echo of Chiflones, Confused with the cries of lost fishermen, there in the intense darkness, where the Chilica.

15 seconds To confirm that no one can love -Or stop doing it- overnight, evening, night, the other. To forget between the legs of another girl, your moans with hers, bury you in the halo of her belly and revive you in the kiss of her lips -This kiss-.

7 seconds To grow old with you, to remember that you still live, somewhere, and to forget that you are no longer with me -Not in my space-, yes in my time. That you miss me, that you forget me, in your curls, with the tint that the moment wanted, with the gray that infallibly exists. To touch you on the stone of my thorax, to revive your nails by the rivers of my back, at the limit of the line, even if you no longer exist.

Half a second For that day -Or the night- when the beat reaches the top, and right there, when the blood no longer feeds my capillaries, and my lips become dry, cold because they no longer live ...

You can feel, from this side -And the other- for the last and first time, the very sensation of this kiss.

Sorry for the kids visiting the blog. It was unintentionally wanting.