The next day I was woken up by the heavy rain of August
that come and goes to announce a feast that doesn’t need to be announced.
You passed over me and left your heavy/pregnant love
where you knew the soil could take the shape/form of your love,
and where I don’t wish for anything
and I don’t ask.
You walked on the tired soil
that wanted to take a more beautiful shape/form,
even if it is only for a few moments that last.
When the rain spread over the shutters
and the balcony and the soil
you have passed,
but the shape/form of your love was still on me,
with its sweet smell/fragrance,
not as sweet/fragrant as before,
but almost.