
Estoy sentado
frente a una pared,
dos sillas vacías,
una taza de café
que no es ámbar,
un cenicero,
un cigarro
que no enciende.
Hay música.
Lo de la música
no sé por qué lo digo,
quizá para no hablar
sobre las causalidades,
el nudo en la garganta,
el aliento con sabor a tus labios...
Sí,
aún tu sabor permanece
e intento escribir
sobre una pared,
sentado,
con dos sillas
y una taza
de café.




I'm sitting
facing a wall,
two empty chairs,
a coffee cup
that isn't amber,
an ashtray,
a cigarette
that won't light.
There's music playing.
I don't know why I mention the music,
perhaps to avoid talking
about coincidences,
the lump in my throat,
the taste of your lips on my breath...
Yes,
your taste still lingers
and I try to write
on a wall,
sitting,
with two chairs
and a cup
of coffee.

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