I have the body shivering of not having you,
And I might shout to the moon,
That does not steal my dreams,
That heat me.

Because today I feel cold,
Because today I am a poet,
Poet of wine and fire,
Of vodka and chimney.

That today the stars shelter in my sleeves,
Play under my underwear,
Replacing your caresses.

I might draw my tears in the rain,
Writing in the sand,
Or to extinguish the light in order that nobody sees me searching for you between the sheets.

I might look for your absence in every corner,
Or I might wait for you,
There where nothing is worth anything,
Where nothing is an everything.

Or I might go with you,
There where nothing is worth anything,
Where nothing is an everything.

Say to the Sun that should not hide itself,
That does not appear,
That does not matter for me,
That I don't want it.

Neither day nor night,
Ni luz ni oscuridad,
Neither no shade nor reflex.

Because it is you whom I adore,
Instead of the nights without dream,
Of the nights of bitterness and emptiness,
Those of paper and pen,
Of ink and feather,
Of moistened skin and spoiled clothes,
Of hands invisible and looks to the sea,
Of collyrium and makeup in the bed.