True Love Story

True Love Story

We met each other one drizzly day, end of summer, under a squatted

sun.

It smelled like fresh

relief, due to the rain, patiently nibbling

the ground as if thirsty;

for love

and trust - eyes' trust, mouth's love and maybe

tenderness, hands' tenderness.

Sex came, not

from the flesh but from the soul. The soul

is the inner inhabitant of the flesh and once touched

can irrigate the moon, soak

the desert in verdigris or whatever color

you dream of, believe

and so it happens we believed, blindly, in an endless

hued summer.

By the end of September, the city

dressed in gray water like suits –

tarry streets sunk

under introverted buses, building's frontages

decayed, trees

whimpered in their loneliness, doves..

no doves were ok and people

were getting closed

as old cellars ready for renewal.

I still keep her letters, in a box

she gave me with a small

green dragon – such was her

nickname – inside. The dragon is gone and so is she

diluted with time and tears.

Before breaking apart we agreed

to meet

unconditionally

in a specific date, of the future.

That day will be

tomorrow!

© José Coelho, 2015