freshly cut grass,
sea before the storm,
your perfume in a sweater of wool,
banana leaves burning in autumn.
The nicotine in your fingers,
roast made in the works,
the dew of the early days of winter,
mussels marinated in parsley and garlic.
The wood of the house of my childhood,
the fresh baked rolls,
sheets from the bed of my parents,
wine that we honor the truth.
old books, new books,
the spring of our first meetings.
The fireplace smoke coming out of your letters,
we ate strawberries in port
peach smell your breath, (and cumin in your sex) ,
and winning all the awards all ...
el olor a sal de tu piel.
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