The Reservoir From A Six Bell Chime

Yes, dear Manfred, you watched for me in your motor bike where I used to shave at his mirror, we took shower together, yes Lissabon the best city in the world; they robbed all Manfred, I escaped again, it keeps going the taking of my spirit in a forbidden curve where my possessions still satisfy the same humans that are a subjective beauty into the motility of my favorite muse, a fragile women, delicate and wise to the crowd as these words were made by the sun, dear Patrícia. May your brother rest in peace and please shut the door, close the curtains, give me again a yogurt I can't stop being inside your room staring at a sea of flashes and as the tears go by and it is just you on your underwear around this similar fragile figure. It is clear as I was your existential tutor and you were my muse. Now I am alone in the interval of the same poetical afternoons where the Ocean stands with me, inside the empowering of my poetical body.