I'm learning the language of the softest distraction...

I
I'm learning the language of the softest distraction,
the corners of my grammar are basic caresses,
free of bad spelling or fleeting coincidences, syntax
and phonetics are my hands and mouth,
without knowing its semantics until desire
arises, then, I write and fly loving statements,
trying to reach each part of your conscience
in small heavy doses

II
A letter starting is always a predisposition to us,
excuse my poor prudence, my idealism and
my love, but they're stronger than my inner me
some times intrepid and other times empty,
but everything rises in this sandy garden because
my own mirror is building a building around you
as poets build hyperbatons or clever allegories
little by little, with the perception of this and that

III
Neither in Brussels, nor in Paris, nor in Moscow,
nor in Tokyo, nor in Sydney, nor in Washington D.C.,
nor in Rome, nor in Jerusalem, nor in Athens,
nor in Beijing, nor in Lima nor in Brazzaville
the discrete tower of magic embraces its foundations,
because this tower grows just in imperceptible symmetries
and the fertile spirits bleed in the worldwide gardens
away from shapes, numbers and names, they may see

IV
Due to this, beauty persuades time & space
longing for the courageous mending rhythm,
every little poem restores to wholeness
since letters are our only band aids for the soul
let us send the proper meaning to each word,
as much as the day begins with the sun sparkling,
love should begin with the blink of kindness
to shine forever.