carles campomar

The day crying

To talked the day crying for your absence,

 In this empty bed of your nake body,

 Masturbating to the dawn,

 Thinking about the blue prince that you eat it existed.

 

 The day that you eat dawned really

 Without seeing your face enjoying the secret pleasure

 Of your hands on your sex that you have secret.

 

 The day cries for not being able to kiss in the bed,

 To smell your perfume so expensive that you bought because if,

 To be able to smell as the roses that sleep to princesses

 That later there wake up these blue princes who never exist.

 The day leaves crying for listening to yourself to cry,

 To cry for this blue prince who did not wake you up of the story of the life

 The life spent from your loneliness.