My Aurora

Your absence is like the end of a day.

I bid farewell to the sun

laying down on the horizon line.

Darkness slowly prevails

with the last words from the sunset

"see you in the morning, my aspirational view"

Dusk becomes my muse,

to write about the Red passionately,

without feeling blue.

I could say :

"I miss how you beam through the horizon,

only for your light to reach my room at night."

Or maybe :

"The world is black and white,

but what if I could call you baby,

or 'mi amor' would it be hued?"

Sometimes,

I believe that confession is better for us,

but I remember that I miss such a beautiful sunrise everytime I dive so hard at night.

What about the night!

Is it really uncolored?

But what about the day!

Does it need a break from colors?

Except you, my Red —

the aurora of my poems.

My feelings have never been so true.

And the night, one day, will ultimately bloom

to reunite with the sun, no need for a queue.

And this time, my Red,

my night will bid farewell to its gloom.