Barcelona Spirit stills live inside the damp small streets and Absinth scent

My friend and I know this very well

Wet sex damp street wild cats sweet-sour amber drink

Drawing our life as it goes by

Dying at every sketch

Living not a trace but the traced left overs

Of times 

that we repeat for ever

We kiss drink sleep walk talk dream

Here where is always obscure

Where we are homeless angels

Absinthe....dawn at Barcelona dream

After loving you all night
and looking at how your spirit could fly like a bird
asleep
I left that room
The streets were fresh and empty
blue blue blue
sky soft
like redemption and sunny shades
open balconies and dark wet pavements
still my mouth full of your kisses
my head floating with that green drinks
smelling of still yet unwashed sex
and going back to my own solitary bed

This times when in Barcelona you and i used to live

There is where I found the young friends

The architecture of the first encounters with decadence
characters unique in their dubious makeup old and young
but very outcast drunk or stoned dark humid narrow places
stinking of vomit and piss next to Pilistras and other plants
out of balconies that seem caves.

Buildings are almost crushing each other in the face with white
sheets blowing against the other like licking dampness
covering the shadows of people that are coming from intense
sexual encounters up there going to finally sleep at home
just down there.

Cats scruffy and bloody after a whole night of horny fighting
The dim light on the cafe just opened and fuet hang from the walls.

Dawn melting with the next Sunset between dreams.

One day go to life painting classes next day just draw the
last whore who was with you for free in bed because you were so young and
your skin so soft.

After having sex with her forever orgasms draining of your
fluids that kept you awake and now want you to paint it.

Hours and hours hanging out with him that is your best friend
talking constructing the world at your will Princes of the future down
these little paths of humid fresh shadows and cut-up like skylines.

Green green or amber sweet-sour drink like anisette that takes your soul
so far and urgently drawing with such little light and shaping faces bodies
streets and the face of your friend your dear friend with whom
you share dreams of traveling far and of going to Meca
where more alcohol and opened women's flowers are waiting laying in
velvet chaise long caressing white cats.

Cabarets, cafes, the same ones every day the same route
the same windows and women trapping times to keep doing it.

But more drowning in drawings inks and oils different of every each one 
a world that only you can create can see and produce at your wish.

You and I in the dark city

Countless nights and days walking shadows

Turning that corner and then the other
to find to find to find
variations of light of taste
eyes and mouths
never sufficient
thirst anxious drift

taking all substances losing ourselves
there at rooms with smoke and fog like
all these cigarettes from twisted old mouths

Dancing over the corpses of our own young dreams
licking red red very red open lips

Hearing our steps dry echo on nights like this

Barcelona's heart

From night till day
we loved
we tasted
time
and
time
soft air
and wet skin
falling kisses
knowing
it will be gone
poems
like
all this
writings
about mouths
and bodies
our bodies
lost
and
found again
a night
and then
a day
a sunny
fresh morning
Barcelona's
heart beating
with ours
Barcelona's sea
waving on ours
love that
never ends
from times
that are far
are souls
close forever
from that night
to that day

And Off to Meca they went

Together we traveled
Together to Meca
Paris rouge blue green
yellow noir

The sky of Van Gogh
over us and dancers
and love and wet sex
for us
for us that are
so thirsty
and so full
of fire

Paris scents
Degas and Lautrec
Is cold and humid
and Absinthe is
warm

Baudelaire ghost
has taken us
to that brothel
the Harem where
we are about
to dance

It's raining outside
but our tent is lighted
orange and blue

Losing our minds
on frenzy and debauchery
this orgy all around
painted and draw

We lick and lick
roses of all kinds
we come and come
inside vessels that moan
French words and sounds
and cats

Miau Miauuuuuu

Death is not my friend (Mort de Casagemas)

Death is not my friend
not the love
that denied seems
to call me with
her name

Death is all around
and I just wish
it would go away

Living like dreaming

But never dying

You were here
next to me
now you are gone

Tombstones
next to yours
and muted

Silence that oppresses
void without you
You left
and now
what can I do?
Where to find you
again?

If I have to look at your pictures
to paint how you must look
sleeping and wounded
eternally resting

Your eyes and
your words
your presence
your needs
your talent

But you like it
the Sirens songs
Morphine and Alcohol
told you about
a whole better world
where to swim forever
and dive
where Love always
comes back