What separates me from death

What separates me from death

are socks and love songs

the sip of wine, olives

and the ladder of feathers

we invent in every conversation.

What separates me from death is

the aroma of some childhood memories

garlic before the rice, red onion over the ceviche

I steal bread and soak it

into the sauce prepared by grandma.

What separates me from death is

as sweet as what separates me from life

and what nears me to death

is as hard as

what builds this life.

What separates me from death is

to wake up thinking it was all a dream

I dream thinking everything is real

I stare at that cloud and lose speech

when I see this woman walking.

But here I am

forgetting your skin

soft as the lonely sheets of exile

to continue enjoying the aroma

of the things I cook.

But here I am

looking into the eyes of that child -in the mirror-

who does not know how to formulate his next question

watching the sea of memories drowning

in the horizon of silence.

But here I am

with socks on

with wine ready

with love songs playing

reinventing life.

© Adrian, September 21, 2014