Monedas de poeta

I wanted to hang myself in the braid of your blond cigarette
when from your lips loaded with secrets
I remembered the cut where my childhood went
destroying the sole of my new shoes.
I am not the ideal of your wisdom,
half movie star and half boxer;
I am a modern poet who wanders the streets
evoking his nonconformist dreams.

Yet I love you, because I know that in your life
you need a boy who sings nonsense to you,
and who puts poet's perfume in the gasoline
of your luxurious car, your soulless car;
A humble, sentimental and good boy
who justifies the vain shine of your coins,
buying you with them heaps of landscapes,
heaps of landscapes and a stone ring.

Who takes you through all the secluded streets,
who sings you tragedies of lovers and jealousy,
and who, passing with you under the trees,
takes advantage of the shade to steal a kiss from you.
A boy who one day, foolish or crazy,
when you least expect it, leaves your existence,
leaving you in an envelope, on top of the table,
a few lies... poet's coins.