He saw nothing. Said nothing.
He could no longer sleep in the room.
There are many ways to love―
What would you like me to see, I ask him?

I can't see you any longer.
I see you in every window,
and we hear the same thing,
now that I'm weeping
and you're kissing.

I wonder what lasts longer,
your lips on hers
or my kiss now further away.
That's the thing about freedom
it bends you over.
Do we need Almodóvar?

Are you watching
one of his films
without me?
Does Madrid miss me?

You envy me.
I know.
Open your eyes,
come closer,
I am alive in the light
and in your distance,
and something else.
I'm thinking about November―
will you be there,
or are you waiting for Pedro,
the chaos
an afternoon can bring?