what about my arms?

it seems that nobodyneedthem,what about my arms, with the mediterranean colour, healty about this sea,those days a little bit moved about the gods,i think.
what about tonight? i´ll be here to close the season finally till 14 octobre,without the sunny afternoons, with all this old people that i respect and adore,rafa is gone today my brothersoul is gone,what about my arms tonight,and this past week, round and round circles on the bed searchin for somethin that onlyone person know, they are alone,they were cleaning today this app. that made me happy this summer,with perfumed sheets,with no empty beds, with perfect movements between us, with milk in the morning ...+

life is rainbow but sometimes you have to be ready for the storm ohmy god 2 weeks here and alone only for money,i´ll wish to be in two or three places in the world now with you.
se que se mueren por reconocerte achucharte,maldito destino agggggggg¡¡

this could be a big hello

Summer moved onAnd the way it goesYou can't tag alongHoney moved outAnd the way it wentLeaves no doubtMoments will passIn the morning lightI found out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZp8_yxhxYg



red body,red lenguage,red tongue,red love,red you red me....

not to the galician lobitos...

smell your used sheets,touch your photos, turn the melancholy in hapyness , without your being is not easy, i´ll fly to you if you let me,don´t think twice sweety,dont let the galician lobitos in that way.

luissoutol@hotmail.com

red summer is gone

you have filled my summer with kisses like movies you move my own world and now it´s full of coloured butterflies you have come like the storm,and now the rain stop ,i just wanna thank you those moments that you made me feel,you remind me someone special,letmesay to you that i love you,i´ll give you the answers if you really want, i´ll be ready for all,let me discover the truth,let me stole your lips,let me drive you slow,let me play with your hair,let me talk about future....

clavadista

me marginan,me pisotean,me prometen diamantes,nos achican el agua del departamento.Hoy hace un dia precioso,quizas en otra parte este obscuro,alguién aviva la barbacoa allá arriba.Te rastrean,te hacen soplar,quefirmes,te dicen,nunca has roto un plato,nunca.Nunca has pasado una tarde de domingo asi ,con tu compañera,la amiga de la noche y el dia,de lo irrefutable e inseparable .Una tarde de domingo solo , recepcionista de fantasmas,cansado de imaginar lo que va a suceder,de los viajes que no has hecho,de los aeropuertos que no se han pisado,de tus labios que no he besado hoy,de los cabellos que no he entrelazado entremis dedos.De los rayos que ya no acompañan tu piel,cansado de las cadencias,del ritmo de la tormenta balear,esceptico de la separacion que siempre esta ahi y es como el respirar en las relaciones humanas,llega el dia en que el cuarto y mis dedos dejan de oler ati,la humedad engrandecey la oscuridad toma otro cariz,lo malo gira a bueno.
El domingo retrocede y se hace viernes,los rubios vuelven a sonreir y yo sigo esperando algo.