Vodka Tonic

Of all those nights,
endless nights.
Nights of all emblems
flavor between shadows.
Colors and shapes
signs without meaning
and conversations that are irreversible.

Of all those nights,
nights of tenderness
nights of lust,
of dense dramas
and palpable resolutions.
Always the white liquid
dry and postponed.
With its lime green
that melts on ice
drawing the silhouette,
the beautiful laughter
of those women whom never arrive.

Of all those nights,
nights without memory
nights with a story.
Drunken is the moment,
the deteriorating of time.
The place once conceived
when at the end of the last drink,
that dance we've learned
arriving fumes of madness,
tries with measure
to restore that lost dialogue.