Absence is that empty cell
where the jailer has fallen asleep
Dedication adressed to the past
when it becomes too pressing .
Perhaps a kiss sent into space-time
that never returns ...
A cardsharp concealing the echo...
The old stuffed parrot
will no longer talk nonsense
when it wakes up ...
In the living,a yellowed portrait
speaks of a summer love .
A glance under Ibiza sun
that has the indolence of the 60s.
From the craddle to the grave
the children of absence
left a trace of insolence ...
Comes the moment ,
when the schedule of appointments
with habbit remains closed ...
Married exchanging dust rings
under the sideboard ...
A kitten dozing on the sofa
is friend with the mummies
always faithful to the earl gray ritual...
This well-behaved book on the gueridon
with wrinkles on its lines
that no one questions anymore ,
keeps reading its long story ...
Since you left, the calendar hanging
on the wall has only memory
of the birthdays engraved on a tombstone...
Even is nobody comes ,we are asked
to deposit our apologies in the lobby.
Sometimes, loneliness calls ,
concerned about knowing if a smile
took possession of the blue room ...
Love passes ,without pushing
the rusty gate ,searching for happiness
that awaits it ,trampling on harmful
of dead leaves ...
Absence has neither reason nor season .
And then one day it pushes the gate
flying away when the jailer
has been asleep for too long ...