Si fuéramos ciegos los dos
yo creo que te querría igual,
y tal vez tú un poquito más.
si fuéramos ciegos los dos,
podrías ver mas claramente
que te quiero,
que te quiero,
y que te querré
como nadie mas.
Si fuéramos ciegos los dos,
por que yo si te quiero así:
con los ojos cerrados,
y el corazón abierto,
con una mente loca,
sin razón.
Si fuéramos ciegos los dos,
como lo somos cuando cierras tus ojos,
cuando así nos besamos,
y nos guía el tacto,
el tacto y el gusto...
Si fuéramos ciegos los dos.

"we"
were born on a night like this,
cold, freezing, icy,
on a night like this,
last year.
i always remember the strangest things.
like,
remember how your phone rang?
you upgraded that phone,
it rings differently now.
and
i remember the coffee grounds
in your cup
and how we hid
quietly in the dark room
as my name was being called...
i remember so much,
how "we" came to be...
how you smiled
as you led me away from the stage...
and how i felt as you carried me,
and how it felt to meet your lips,
for the very first time....
i remember how happy i felt,
so happy i could cry.
i remember how i measured my foot against yours
afterwards, when we had joined everyone again.
i remember the hint of *****
as i said goodbye,
how it felt almost like a toast to us.
i remember how good it felt to start the year like that.

you were a television soldier,
and played into the hours of the morning,
killing virtual versions of demons gone amok;
this was better than staying here with me,
and chasing mine away.
you were a television soldier,
and i would smile to imagine you,
my little pacifist shooting away,
turning into a gory executioner;
the smile would fade.
your hands were not meant to ****.
your mind was not meant to contemplate ******.
no, your hands were meant to caress,
my body and my soul;
your mind was meant to consider life with me.
you were a television soldier,
but you want to serve a nation?
serve it here with me:
what this country needs is not war,
or more young men dying;
no what this country needs is love.

there is something about the color black,
the smoothness,
the sheer elegance
the grungy roughness
of it.
Black,
the color of death?
i see life
in the ebony skin
of my brothers and sisters,
i see life
in the black of my eyes,
i see life in the black feathers
of the bird, prey of death.
Black is beautiful.
the constellations lie
in a black background
and shine for it the brighter.
Black takes me from
moody adolescent
to professional young lady,
to his **** woman.
Black transforms.
Black is edgy,
it's quiet,
it's power,
ever present
as the pupil into our lives.
black is, when light isn't.

her skin was pale,
i guess that's what they mean about french girls;
her lips were red
as they sipped
that fruity little drink
at a second-rate club,
and her
green, pleated skirt
swished
to the rhythm of some song.
i sat at the bar,
looking at my own hands,
brown like caramel,
and
realized for a moment,
that i could fall in love
with the milky skin
of her calves.
i guess that's what they mean about french girls.
she spoke in english,
with an intoxicating accent
that became more slurred
the more she tried to quench her thirst.
she smiled at me.  
her brown curls bounced on her shoulders,
and she danced
with the Arabic boy
that had been staring at her since
that first day we left the country
for the weekend.
for that moment,
i questioned my self,
and
i guess that's what they mean about french girls.

tengo miedo.
se que si me pides que te espere,
se que lo voy hacer.
se que si me lo pides,
perderé un millón de minutos,
miles de horas y días,
se que perderé años,
esperando tu regreso.
se que si me lo pides,
gastare mi tinta en escribirte,
que dormiré poco pensándote
que rezare a ese Dios
en el que antes  no creía,
buscando un poquito de fe
y una señal
que no espero en vano.
tengo miedo.
se que te seré fiel,
aunque no nos ate nada,
y se entonces
que perderé mil oportunidades
de encontrar el amor,
de encontrar la paz del alma,
lejos de ti.
tengo miedo,
si te vas
y me pides
que te espere,
que te guarde
un rinconcito de mi corazón.
tengo miedo,
porque te esperare
incondicional,
y tal vez no regresaras
y entonces,
que voy hacer?

when i am alone, two days seem eternal.
i close my eyes and think,
and because i think i feel,
and because i feel i yearn.
two days seem forever.
i remember the hours we spent together,
how fast they came and went;
i remember
and i want them back.
two days seem too long
to go without your betraying touch,
to go without tasting your sin,
or feeling your manliness
take over.
i close my eyes and think,
think about that moment
as i become your woman
and the pain becomes my pleasure.
two days is too long,
to suffer the burning
of not having you remember me;
of not knowing whether you want me too,
of imagining you elsewhere.