Indian summer

In the illusion of moments ,

your face ,that I already confuse,

emerges from the intensity 

of a dormant reverie...

These few lines from a poem

I wrote  in pastel  shadows

And whose seasons has charmed you...

We love each other to the scents

of an indian summer ,

before the hues of rust mingled,

settling on desire 

and disolving the  fragile colors

in the promise box ...

ecstasy always dies  

before reaching the snows 

 of tomorrow ...

Do you remember 

that wise little cup  of coffee

we used to enjoy 

at the university café 

after this sensual  fluid ?

Our eucharist 

made of biterness 

and regret  for sin ...

Our empty mugs 

fell asleep in the winter 

of the Ottawa river ...

 You were going to leave .

In a setting of dead lips .

  You left .

Or it's probably me who stayed ...

 pretending to expect 

someone for dinner ...

  Why lie to life ?

Murmuring  a few more words 

in my notebook .

Drawing the unique curves 

that awaited me next spring ...

But in the arms of this sketch 

I still belong only to you .

  Just cat's love 

from  reef to roof 

in a crazy almodovar scenario...

 We'll never sleep alone .

The indian summer's cadaver

always smiling in our dreams...