"I start with this apostrophe
To all apostles of rotten love"
For an instant, Madrid transformed itself into Long Island
And Nick Carraway was the pen describing the free falls of buildings' perspiration.
Her lips had a reluctant salty taste, while Phoebus was making the Sun scream up there.
The red thread detached itself of Elizabeth's red dress.
Cibeles bewitched the corners of Madrid's most magical square
And with a gallant, attentive, charming pace, George Barker kissed the space.
Without benches to sit in, the square turned into a Central Station of Death.
Stigmatized daggers in men's smiles, grace could not make his eyes shine.
The Dog Star beats up on both consciences.
The Rooster started crowing...
George Barker, is that Elizabeth's face?
George Baker, is that Eliza's face?
George Baker, is that Beth's face?
George Baker is gone
Elizabeth is skeptical
The Moon is coming.
And you know what?
She sleeps with daggers.