SENSATIONS

It's summer, full of hope, to have a good time,
in that torrid air that undresses us as we sleep.
Time to spend time with ourselves,
in that time of floating in the water of a full bathtub.
Luxurious details, whims that don't cost much yet,
small luxuries to pamper ourselves, with the luxury of time.
That time that always leaves without being able to catch it,
in the summer, where there are rays of the warm sun.
On those days to enjoy reading,
in my hermetic worlds,
leafing through and savoring
those books or poems,
stored away.
Time to open
books, letters or doors.
In that world that is paused,
in the August of another year, perhaps,
where each day is a gift.
Dreaming of beaches, with those wild islands,
dreaming between uncovered sheets,
in my dreamed African savanna,
in a very white house.
In my Paradise
I dream,
of incredible
days,
in my gray life,
with small luxuries.


My secret luxuries,
at home, without going out,
poor miseries,
of being very poor
and rich in dreams.
Between saving every day,
and dreaming without measure,
dreaming of living a little,
and just like that, the holidays are gone.
While I collect sensations,
when the winds caress me,
that world that has no price
Among the jungle of my little garden
among waters that fall on me.
Fountains that make me happy
those sensitive days,
that no one charges for,
and which are just that,
my secret
luxuries.
Sensation
of caressing,
the days and nights,
that something no one else
can afford.
Except for an outcast,
envied for being rich,
in emotions of the soul.
In a rich neighborhood,
one more poor person,
in his house,
envied,
for being
like that.