MIRAGE

You are my most beautiful enchanted mirage.
Chance that turns to reality, my ego massage.
Desired future, becoming my present.
Image that an artist imagines and paints.
Sound that sounds like lovely music playing.
Loose letters collected as a poem, I declaim.
The sky that kisses the ground I walk on,
when I stroll from here to the horizon.
And from there I look back and see her more,
in its infinite beauty, asking me to return.
She’s not a mirage when desiring softly wishes.
Throwing herself into my lap, sharing her kisses.
When I can taste your saliva, this wild taste.
Mix of the salt of your sweat, I kiss, not waste.
That's when I feel her more real than a mirage.
You, my dear woman, my eternal vernissage.