The agony in wanting

I'm having the anxious wish of being three stations from your neighbourhood,

to get off so I can climb the stairs to your roof,

To hit my fingers against the green leaves, 

and have the open jacket, to collide against the cold wind.

Is a wish that burns in the entrails of my heart, 

I need to be ten blocks from where you can walk blindfolded, 

to believe in the possibility of seeing you on a cheating day,

with the green jacket, the perfect and malicious smirk, two lighters of opposite colours and football in your lips.

This sin is eating my dreams up and I need to be 

visiting the confines of your hood, 

hoping you have more than thirty friends 

and that we met by chance in the kiosk,

for your cigarettes to be of share, 

for your walk to be slow and lonely 

and for me, to get lost enough for you to grab my hand. 

TA.