DISAPPOINTMENT WITHOUT DESIRE

The postcards of an idyll,
wrapped in an enigma,
from a stealthy Cyrano,
who put music to his verses,
like a rhapsody,
on insecure roofs,
and the maiden, in sexual paradises,
covered in red apples,
where attentive snakes,
they deliver them by hand,
so you don't lose the pleasure,
in its ephemeral youth.

With so much meat on fire,
who could fall in love with his soul?

But winters became rivers,
with wild tours,
the caresses in the air withered,
the roof changed color,
and in his platonic love affair,
for the next sunrise,
he will have improvised so many words,
deployed to eternal love,
in wrong windows,
that the sneaky Cyrano, sadly,
will take some apples,
that you will have no one to share with.