Nothing
Certain
Within
4 hours, your face
will join me
will join me
outside,
in the cold of the night
That weightless sensation
whirling within us, as speed
writing surreal poems
by the side of the highway – maybe
That weightless sensation
whirling within us, as speed
writing surreal poems
by the side of the highway – maybe
it
was all happening
inside, even the landscape
cascading into our irises
inside, even the landscape
cascading into our irises
But
hell, no!
Your face, as an angel of glass -
warm though -
and sugar, dripping
Your face, as an angel of glass -
warm though -
and sugar, dripping
onto
my face. You
licked it, though it was cold
and dark.
licked it, though it was cold
and dark.
©
2015, José Eduardo Coelho
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