Warm smoke

Night is a fussy roommate, when I want to close my eyes and take a rest, she doesn´t allow it, on the other hand she talks to me about fallen stars, amazing twilights, devotion and heartbreaking tears.

I listen her without my ears, I do it with my spirit, there are things that only with our soul we can understand them. She brushs my lips with her hair, I can listen her groans, her skin is cold but her eyes have a burning bright.

Sleeping is unnecessary tonight, we prefer smiling and listening each other, I wonder if she would like to smoke a cigarette made of diffuse memories... I feel like having one, and I don´t want it light, as long as more concentrate, better.