Walking
Naked
An
exact finger
closed
my eyes
as
hers, minutely
were
driven
out of her body
commingled
with what was left of night's
star
dust
I
wasn't scared – there was no space
there
was no time; in fact
there
was nothing
And
so it remained
literally
a
border of voids
until
the next winter
an
exact finger
pointed
hungrily at three
but
irrelevant facts:
a
window was missing and I was cold
I
didn't walk naked for a long time – and that
had
become an habitude
sheets
of paper laid
spread
on the table, a blanket hung on the chair and I
was
sitting, mercilessly
writing
©
2015, José Eduardo Coelho
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