Poemas cortos para días largos

51

Because it's art

that fills us inside.

In the st(art).

In our he(art)s.

Because it's the rain

that pours inside,

and fills me with pain

in any fucking time.

Because are tears

what slow down my face;

in slow motion

to be felt.

Because is she

that makes me feel,

with a kiss as a gift.

Without art, without tears.