De Color de Rosa

I want my love right now
when the banks close their branches
and the windows open, letting in the air
and the moon isn’t a trick or cardboard.
I want the pink of the evening
-that anniversary of John Lennon
-to tell you, my love, for example:
loneliness doesn’t exist,
it’s a rumor, a shadow, a doubt,
a fantasy (knock on wood), a superstition,
that night of love that never comes
another way out for the song.
Don’t talk to me about yesterday, it makes me old,
it scares me, life on replay.
To spend a Sunday afternoon
I’d rather have some wind between you and me.
I don’t know why there’s fear of sadness
if it’s always lurking behind the glass:
the lost gaze, listening to Mahler,
imagining dying of love.
Yesterday I saw a shadow on the street
and it changed my face to color.
I thought it was your voice filling the sky
and it turned out to be inspiration.