Everyday before dusk turns to dawn,
I read a couple of poems in my bed time.
I also write a couple of poems before I close my eyes.

And I arrived to a possible conclusion that…

It is the silence of the night:
the muse that speaks in lullabies,
and seduces me to write,
even when the contents of the poems
have nothing to do with my life.
I feel possessed. In a trance.
As if I’m dancing in a dream
where words are the waltz:
the music that moves me into his arms,
that makes me gaze into his eyes,
as if we were in a ballroom
Dressed in metaphors.
Highlighted by the moon.
Gyrating with our thoughts.
Having the night of our lives,

just dancing him and I
Just dancing our way out

into the world where poetry is alive.



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