I woke up with pasmaditas
dripping from my eyes.
With you, pasmadita
but tiny
like when I used to walk
hand in hand through Ocaña
everywhere.
I used to dream of you, little one
with you that you learned to move
but that in your conscience still hurts.
With you that you fall in love
through feigned innocence
the lie and the softness in your voice.
I woke up crying for you in a daze
sometimes it happened to me
I would sink in a floating darkness
in the room you knew
in the corners where by my side you sheltered.
I howled and drank
and looked for a way to forget you
to send you far away.
I cried like a motherless child
I cried and drank and cushioned the blow.
And I locked myself up.
I cried for you, you little stunned girl
that you like to drift
on the loose rein.
What guilt
no one is to blame
It's the bad blood.
The courtesan's blood that does not distill
but that with the time if it is malluga.
YOU ARE READING
My loves, Love of my home
RomanceI had the amusing task of managing eight girlfriends; Colita blanquita, Colita negrita, Huesita radioactiva, Intensita enamorada, Anita la preciosa, Larguita la prima, Inquieta perversa and Pasmadita solapada. This risky undertaking was developed du...
