I think of each passing moment,
like the rain from time to time,
drops of water from the sea,
much rain at midnight,
without time to think,
or look at the clock,
without time to see
myself in the mirror
child in the rain,
there is only time
to sleep and dream.
For the currents of memory
to travel through the unconscious,
a journey to inner city,
to that unknown part
where you can not
reach awake.
Sleep is like
a train moving
through the forest,
a journey through dark streets,
bridges and hidden corners,
dazzling mountains,
a city without shadows.
It is sailing on the open sea
and waking before the shipwreck,
it is kissing you
and not feeling your lips,
caressing you
and letting my fingers
slip into your fullness,
embracing you
in the void of light.
I like the reality of matter
feeling the sweetness in your lips,
blossoming the warmth
of your skin
warming me from the cold,
when I want to be a time traveler,
I only close my eyes
and dream about you.
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