No miento si te digo que yo ya no veo diez dedos.

                                                                     ¿pero qué importa, señores? Una pipa sigue siendo una pipa.

Probably my cat´s eyes had left me,

even before I´d changed my lips.

They were a deeply pure green; wild.

They were mine.

They were mine and turned gray.

They were mine, I said.

They were mine as my wrists.

As my toes.

As my neck.

As my hatred full of lost memories.

As your confussion in my silly nights.

But, don´t be dumb. 

Your cats are dead.