Forget me. In sips.
By the way.
At rush hours. On the thoughts.
Just before dawn!
In the palms of the morning.


Forget it! Between sips!
And breathe!
As in a lesson.
Deep. Evenly.
And with your footsteps.


Because difficult loves are like that---
with an infinitely short term.
They have no preservative.
And they are somehow relatives.
After them you have either deaths or rebirths.
And no sensitivity.


You also gain talent---
to cultivate memories,
that they were!...
that there were!
In the blind eyes
of your empty past…


Forget me. In sips.
Between love and hatred.
Among others.
And between the truths.
Those. The hidden ones.
In the wine. In the smoke.