Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

I carry her smile through my brown hair, 
The traces of her lips,
 I find them on my skin. 

 Her whispers cling to my forehead,
And my love for her blossoms
Like young flowers of the May spring.  

On the rhythms of old music 
She starts dancing,
 Letting herself be carried away 
By the wind waves of the old time.

 I become jealous of Frank Sinatra, 
Because his music makes
 Her forget about me for a while.

But I like to see her happy,
 Her eyes change into clean ocean,
Where my sweet tears drip
And she can be mine for at least a second.