Love Song

The air crosses it in a minute
And a twin-engine iron plane
Flies beyond the clouds,
At nine like five thousand feet altitude, south latitude.

We rush onto Paris
And the maneuver is in descent,
I have to write a verse, a moment,
I would say your lips are winters and smiles.

And the sky loses itself,
It's an intangible sphere in the birds,
In all directions they fly over
And always the horizons equidistant,
Like the poles and the equator,
When they are under the moon and not under the sun.
I would say your body considers it
And my feeling gets lost.

My total eclipse,
My love song,
My mental suicide,
We dance the foxtrot.

My total eclipse,
My love song,
My mental suicide,
We dance the foxtrot.