Let it rain, in here, within my expatriation
where everything is the same and different.
What is the usage of your signals
if, with subtle juggling, you leave me?
Maybe I can believe the unbelievable,
but I use to get lost in the impulse,
when I say joy is part of my dermis,
when a drop of your light
ignites my bonfires.
AUTHOR: © Victoria Asís
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