claudiapena.com

The ocean storm rolls in
And the clouds fall thick and low
I can’t see the horizon
If the palm trees aren’t already bent,
the wind will knead them
Whatever else is left
Well, that,
that’s for the wind to reprieve

In the emotional weather report:
A melancholic hello that alarms me
His softness carries a blue hue
That doesn’t want cognac or a soul around
But the four walls to cover the river sounds
And I wonder if he’s making peace with death
behind closed doors cutting deals and compromises
or massaging pains that don’t want to bleed.
Some things,
are just too tender to touch.