Music and nightspots

While my soul was on the darkness of the night,
you appeared with your biosphere of music:
you took me through the sounds as a translation,
meaning a dream around the moon.

My days were involved on your impulses,
like another december where I listened your
stringquartets, then I felt like yesterday was dramatic,
nevertheless today everything is okay.

Opus no. 2 was nice with you, smiling,
then I think that's why I'm 9 today.
I left the road with every word,
in the sense of a triangle where I died.

With the face against the wall I can tell you
that you might come from a filmschool,
scaping from the future of a poem;
then I need to take you from your hand.

It will be the moment to leave a dream
in your great eyes, so as to take your
little things with my poorness; even though
the stars will turn pale when they die.