lost humans under sheets

lights in the sky, blessed is the eye

which encounters such a surrealistic sight

under the sheet, night habits hide

from ignorant judgments

but sometimes it ends in a cry

when under, there’s another human

sent to allure the spirit,

disguised in endless skin deserts and round sand dunes

a fake gold, a Fata Morgana which disappeared, leaving you

alone, with your feet in the air, smoked whiskey and wine

and fine cigars,

nothing joyful, products of a mere passing existence

you wonder, where are you now

knowing that maybe under the sheets you die

alone in time.