Barefoot things fast like feet turned in on themselves

 It was then the noise of the barefoot things, quick as feet turning on themselves on leaves to return gathered on what that covers! It is already late for the flight traveled by the warm currents it glides in the meeting of the air when the sun is no longer hot it gathers on the cover of the cold beds whose blue rooms close on its four walls our bodies between misunderstandings the smiles known by their diffuse surroundings, they see themselves seen without looking with dissimilar eyes from two different glances, each one looking from two different backgrounds to the outside, never unnoticed in text exposed