rather than a man in wait,
I am an idiot and I feel
like a drunk bird,
but these dumb poems
are, indeed, yours,
hecho con amor.
so what's next?
nada.
if it weren't for the clock,
I wouldn't give a shit.
rather than the bridge,
this song is not over,
and the water has yet
to be crossed by crazier
folk than me in love,
and I got a giant.