Translucent
Poetry
(or
Poetry Beyond Lucidity)
Each day I go past the memory, yours, naked,
as in a boat slithering on the good side of the diamond-western waters,
they and I, a chorus of voices – body spluttering secrets dripping on
our melancholy.
I go past the gentle singing as the morning,
auguring warm growing zephyrs, sends me your hair's color and map
where I intend to lose myself – made into a nutshell adrift –
when I get to meet you.
©
2015, José E.T.M.Coelho
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário