taste of rust

When you sleep; The night stops being at night, begins to ask about the possibility of being a dawn stuck in a crater that the beam does not reach as it should. And on the possibility that my lean body - this - will turn into light until it reaches your dreams. I am a bad scene from a low -cost movie, jumping my junction from a shrewd way out of a lazy, repeated as a meal that has no taste. I ask you what did you do today? What have you eaten until now? How did you become? I am eager for your own adversities without boredom; But I am tired of my empty breath that forgot how to create one hadith that does not sleep, or an event that does not resemble the ordinary in anything. How do I throw a passion that I no longer feel in your voice? How did I extend a rope for a very sweet days, cut itself from me? How do I reformulate my simple language, and my poem is dying in front of the angels? The distances, my love, the distances ... have been more than any time between us,