Maria reminds me of my mother,
but maria is nothing like her.
Maria could be my mother,
but I don't want to think of that
I can only think of the green of her eyes,
nothing like the coffee brown of mine,
nothing like the cold inside my mother's
but they are somethings maria and
my mother have in common.
no, its not my love.
but the fact that when I hug either of them,
I feel like I am trespassing a trust
that was never given to me.
My mother's heart is a lonely place
maria's arms are a lonely place
