60 PHRASES from TIDE – Short, about love and freedom

Stay until the day it rains pianos, stay until I give up my arm.

And she looks at me out of the corner of her eye when she thinks I’m not looking at her, how can I not look if she burns like stubble when I’m not careful.

I’m left alone, but I keep collecting… there are still pieces of your love.

I stay here to hang out my sorrow in the sun on the rope of hanging out desolation; Then I will start to sew I love you on paper and sweep away the love with the hairs of a brush.

To kiss, I kiss the moon to make you ugly.

Let’s climb to the top of this January sun and make a nest in its branches. And there, we laugh watching how every minute hand is devoured by the waves.

My heart plays bulerías if he looks at me.

Bathe in my eyes, fuck the sea that wants to rock you as it pleases.

My home is where you are, the same eyes, the same light.

I don’t want your temporary love, your flow of gall, your desire to lose, although I know that if you leave I will be left with nothing.

What do you want? Love? Well there are now two of us.

I will go barefoot and you naked, to the sound of love, of the hoarse drum, let the moon play…

She feels good, I sit quietly on the floor and look at her.

That my pillow is full of when you were not there, of songs that you never sang, of kisses that you never gave me.

That’s you and me: the sky and the ground, shit and love, laziness and sleeplessness, sandpaper and velvet.

And the olive trees tell me that I’m tired of dreaming about you, that I’m cornered and I have no shots left, that it’s time to wake up.

Who was going to tell him that in the end he was going to join his belly with mine. With a plumbing poet. Shitty, empty-handed poet.

She will comb her hair a little and she will look so pretty and she will go out whispering about her things at dawn…

He said that his heart was tiled to the ceiling, so let’s see if I couldn’t make a border with kisses.

Since you’re gone, I erase nightmares for you. There is no room for more sins in your hands and yet you collect even the moss that walls my regret.

Sleep with me, if you are a stone it doesn’t matter, I will be a stony path.

The heels on the back of the neck of life.

I have flourished with so much noise.

The trapeze artist gives me money to see me on my knees, but I won’t pray to him.

The disheveled smile of going against the winds.

Nothing to lose in the world.

I never followed the herd.

He was as disobedient as the west wind.

The whole world is not worth it to me.

I want to be the green dog again.

I was dancing with bad luck, I have told him my entire life…

I have the power to set limits to this wild sea.

When there is something to say, one cannot remain silent, because to remain silent is to die.

Veins with smoke and words.

The treacherous eyes that entangle skeins are chameleons dressed as sheep.

We were, we are and we will be nothing.

If I manage to uncover the jar of its essence, I have been told that it smells like jasmine.

I don’t give a shit about the lips you want to embroider.

Let me tell you my story of wounds and caresses… my story of nobody, my lullaby of hunger, all my lies.

Cousin Sadness, you who show life your panties, don’t forget to get out of my head.

And if you want to add salt to the wounds, you will only find bolts and the scars of loneliness.

What the hell will happen to him if he doesn’t fly anymore? Maybe the moon’s reflection wet its feathers?

Be careful with the moon, the stars say, more beautiful than any I will stay with her again.

And as soon as he finished mending the wounds of the poorly slept nights, I arrived.

I am nothing more than what you saw one day, my gray smile, my sad little eyes, trying to get off the ground.

All my dreams have remained at parsley level, I make a dress with everything I have lost and it now makes sense to smile.

What do the guts know about closed fists? They know that they are watered by bitter drinks…

Don’t pay any fucking attention to me if I pass by you selling failure as if it were peppermint.

If she shows up and wants me to kick her, I’ll kiss her.

The disappointments are the flowers that I lost, while the orchestra did not stop playing and I threw overboard the pedigree that made me a man, that wants to root in the clouds.

That we don’t want to be so much. We want to be a little sun and a little night, we want to be wind and calm, storm, rain and the smell of wet earth.

I just want to be loved like you, like everyone else.

I was always that black sheep who knew how to avoid the stones that were thrown at him.

Quiet stop, don’t get close. It’s been too many years, for your runaway dawn, you better forget me.

Before cutting my veins, screw you, I paint a heart.

Let the sun fall in pieces and, with it, the drunken God who wanted to make you suffer.

If I cut the trapeze ropes, it was to go up and tie them and see the moon again.

A deal was made to the mattress, with its foam the heart was lined; Last night it was made of stone and at dawn it was made of wicker that bends before breaking.

Their walks still sparkle, despite years lost through twists and turns and olive groves.