I made a flag with shreds of your kisses
wet my lips with Caribbean rum, I composed a thousand poems
I traveled with my fingers and my hands all your nooks
I slept with open eyes fixing my gaze on your beautiful body
Witch And when I felt thirsty, thirsty for your kisses and I found full of fruits fresh, your black hair and wiring, your skin silky black, were your old shackles released in my kiss, ebony skin I called you and did not respond to my voice breaking, as of old, jumped out of bed to see your body and watched the black flower that produces the branches of the outbreaks of ebony. Nobody knew who I meant and I put your picture now, I care if you left such an imprint on me.
Life goes on but you stayed on that beach with insufficient light for the photograph to honor the wonderful angles of the symmetry of your cheek to your lips, the kisses traveled with captives and slaves of this no love, no more than your body.
For a stronger love left me full of melancholy soul. Cuban rum I drank to drown my sorrows while entangled in your body, was something of harmony, not win my heart, because you did not win my battle before he was faking love cupid no bow and arrows ... not therefore have not even left an indelible mark on this form of love pilgrim.
But it is your picture! And the memory of your kisses, was in Cuba where the sickle and hammer, and not reap a hammer and not a sheet or more stars Comandate the "UP LA VICTORIA They Drove Old Dixie "
Author: Antonio Valcárcel
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