Walking on butter roller skates
over the ground at 50 degrees.
You touched me and I stepped a prairie barefoot
South of any country.
I looked the crag at the end of the road
and I covered my eyes to not see
that you were not jumping alone
I stood there waiting to find
a shortcut that crosses our roads
the day that you walk alone
and remember the moment you were there.
Then I woke up.
But you touched me ...
Now I don’t want another thing
That isn’t to dream again.
Translated by Alejandro Posada
"Fantasies are real" @HommoSapiens