Elisa's Blog
Monday, July 11, 2005
As always, the weather changes as soon as you cross the San Mateo county line. Sunnyvale's always sunny, says a friend, but in San Mateo that Friday, a faint drizzle and darkened skies enveloped the smell of wet asphalt.

I waited for you inside, and when you arrived, barely in time to complete a brief greeting, I grabbed you by the hand and led you outside, still puzzled at my unexpected and purposeful steps, not saying anything, your eyes questioning when I said to you: "Smell this."

And as you turned to face the wind, cold and a bit too fast for summer, "Smells like rain, right?" said I. You tilted your face sideways and nodded, still wondering why this remark of mine had seemed so urgent.

And then I turned to look straight into your eyes, and grinned, and said to you: "I want to find a wine, that smells like this."

Hola Elisa

Uso el blog como página experimental, tú sabes. Anoto los poemas o los textos, pasa un día, y entonces decido cambiar esta o aquella línea. En el caso del poema, no sé, quise hacerlo menos "específico"; el movimiento es el mismo en cualquier autobús en cualquier lado. Pero vaya, tienes razón: sin los nombres se pierden muchas imágenes. Quizá los incluyo de nuevo.

Gracias por leer
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