Where are the love affairs and the eternal gazes
at the bus stops, way under the foggy
shelters covered with nicotine patches?
Under the morning breeze when 'to love' is
far from a random habit, I crave the hot sand
rescuing the sealed kisses; treasuring the lost letters.
The final destination is a flawless spot filled
with leaves of grass, with singing birds and I,
I'll linger there in silence, holding tight to my dignity.