DREAMS
My love, I want to be
as sweet as syrup.
But life, with its whip,
lashes me with routine,
with poverty, with uncertainty,
and I turn into a volcano,
lava that kills the flowers
that our love planted.
My love, we’ll go far away,
where fatigue,
like a knife
murders love.
We’ll go to Costa Rica,
we’ll sleep under the sun
and swim
in the warm sea.
My love,
if only we were
two free birds,
our lives would be so lovely.
Love,
we’ll make our nest
where the sea and the sky
meet to kiss.
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