4445 Far from vulgarity

I woke up with the desire

To pilot the spaceship

Of silver dreams

To haunt your full moons.

Board your car

Of flesh and fire,

Teleport me,

Ascend towards nirvana,

Like the prophet Elijah

Towards the infinite blue.

And in a madness

Of whirlwinds,

Rotate on a common center

Without fear, without wings,

Without nets

Like circus trapeze artists.

The mauve mornings

Of February

Make me feel this way.

There are the days

In which your body

And my body

Warmly

In centripetal attraction

They turned, turn, and will turn

In a cyclonic vortex,

At high levels

Of troposphere,

Far from vulgarity.