The Swans of Señor Salvador

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

I checked behind the walls
That carry the weight of your paintings
I examined your signature
Under the black and red tiles
That cover your floor
I went through the tears
That you keep in a drawer
And the smiles
That you find on the shore

I climbed on your keychain
And clawed at your door
I sang serenades
I roared
I prayed
I gave you my heart on a spade
But you simply ignored
You know, we could have been legends
But now we're a backstage folklore

I gave you the swans of señor Salvador
“Thank you!” you said
“But I'm not here for the birds
My poor troubadour
My sweet matador
Can you kill for me bulls
With your innocent words?”

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