The lips were stroll along the rim of a glass, the murmur of fluid that outlines within the round shape makes a simple bouquet that is entering the tunnels of a nose to the brain that explains the feeling that the language will receive when the contact is Definitive.
The look of it to a piece of lemon that appears swimming in the current that occurs when you shake the glass, walking on tiptoe in their own shadow, in its little flavor that fills the voids flavored liqueur can be a quiet stream, a look of peace and love in the rest of a body that just sounds reassuring those who now go away.
I see through this small pack the same furniture, that lit hallway, in the concavity of a new vision to understand different ways of seeing a slice of lemon on a shelf of books that dwarfs the one hand and grows by another, changing from a greenish color before the light that feeds this new sip.
I hear the music to accompany the time, the eyes of those who leave the glasses at the same table where the food is spreading in some dishes that have covered the surface of a conversation, in the movements of hands toward any of the pieces that accompany the quiet night soaked the walls that separate hosts a meeting at night when the simple look of a room empty silence makes people laugh asleep.
Today there are several that nest in that place to find a smile, to turn on a talk where the objective is to receive a caress, a mere glance from across a table about who feel the heat from a few hugs, a few feet which are intertwined in the smile that I had not known, in a hand that slips between some cushion to ignite the passion of a face you just turn on a red light.
Dark red is the environment that breeds in the sense that a man or a woman has left an instant look at that entangle more sense for what many are facing a problem and that at this moment is born as a discovery, a breath in a heart that beats faster to accelerate the possible meeting that has not yet been possible.
Rub with a kiss to the cheek has left sealed a moment that insurance does not happen again, but in its certificate of authenticity that has sealed remember that at times when silence us raining on the night without sleep, leaving those moments without owner who now describes not understand why human beings want to feel a caress without understanding the risk posed by lead left by a storm without rain.
I remain locked in the seed that will spring into one of the hearts that are opened today without understanding that a final did not start, maybe a beginning which opened a final, but a moment in the passion of a nonsense that could lead to a love connection which has now awakened in the night that is final, in opening the eyes of a soul that never rests, to caress that small hand today nap in his own footprint.