Will of snow: where my mouth goes

I will eat some snow in every stop.

That is my vow,
my only promise
in this warm winter day

this is my only will
in this little tiny second goodbye.

In the bus station of Winnipeg,

under the falling snow,

I tried to eat some snow,

after you left.

And I felt the white's wetness in my lips.

I will send you a picture of myself

eating snow

in every place my mouth goes.

I will send you a picture of myself,

looking up the white heaven,

sometimes closing my eyes

with my eyelashes holding a snowflake
you would wish to be.

I will send you a picture of myself

eating snow

in every place my mouth goes.

That is my will today,

this December the 22nd,

filling my whole mouth with snowflakes

and swallowing.

The will used to be permanent

and became in this last time a temporary treasure

craving to last forever

but conscious about it's inherent will of disappear

in the melting of the last snow in my mouth,

in front of you,

in this unique city that Winnipeg is.

I will send you a picture of myself

eating snow

in every place my mouth goes.