There’s this musician guy I know,
and he, I can tell you when he sings
that he knows not what I see
beyond the surface of his tones
and the magic of his strings.
There’s a love with no oppose
as long as he’s, madly, craved by me.
I guess he feels all my desires
and urges bursting out like fire;
He smiles with evil joy within,
hence I know he longs for me…
And chord by chord he plays me rough
like cotton picks around my neck,
and pitches drifting by my skin.
Núria R. Pinto
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