Nothing is mine

Nothing is mine, just the storm of the silences,

The absence of skin to skin it's confused.

Drop of light which is not exhausted.

The absence of that mysterious trace which forms you.

How many heartbeats exhausted? How many dying sighs?

The Hunger for your body remain, fire between passion and desire.

At the end of the evening nothing stays; An absence gap,

A bitter language of the words.

It's hard to withstand the gray days, everything hurts!

The sadness, your memory, the lonely absence of nights without you.

The Words are bitter, when they undress the nostalgia.

Nothing is mine; just this dying solitude in the silences.

The Tears in the eyes slim the autumn evenings.

How sad are the sighs!

Naked, surprised in your own solitude.

Nothing is mine, nevertheless; I got accustomed to the error of your kisses.

Life and death consuming the elixir of a few lips with poison.

How many heartbeats exhausted? How many dying sighs?

Nothing is mine, just the storm of silences.