Much More Than Skin

Much More Than Skin

The color of her skin    is

much more than

the color of her

skin

Approaching her 

skin with my

hands

treading beige flecks

touching, grabbing

sweat sealed

fingers

The brown matter of her

eyes

expands, slowly

blushing

the look in her face

quenches

day light's ebb

her dark sheeny hair

I cuddle with

glee.

© 2016, José Eduardo Coelho

Of Light and Rain

Of Light and Rain

Thought:

The Hybrid Nature of Love

reveals it self in the ledges leading

to soreness and joy

Act:

The chance we catch the right drop

once we start running

is neither bigger

nor smaller -

the rain keeps falling

blindly – so it was

said and understood and raising

both our hands

we sat on the ground

legs slightly crossed

just admiring, waiting

and getting all

divinely

wet

Hallucination:

Approaching the skyline

from that east end slope, tiny ash

particles, dancing

squeezing their amazingly

thin

gravitational center

in erratic circles

until almost touching

the ground – by then, literally

vaporizing and slowly

fading up into

the blue

anew

Comprehension:

The light

reminded me of one of Rembrandt's famous

paintings – such a timeless device to play with

eternity should endure

forever -

and yet I could now

feel my bones

soaking

and my flesh began

aching; thus

we got up and back we went

through that narrow, scary ledge

only

this time, we

felt

joy

© 2016, José Eduardo Coelho

Da Placidez da Noite

Da Placidez da Noite

A noite, enquanto ideia

arrecada uma cor purpurina e suaviza

metais

de fio cortante

Arquipélagos antípodas - indecisos entre

este e oeste – soem banhar-se

na mesma luz

oceânica, à noite

enquanto as marés trabalham

e o som disforme dos astros

navega

rumo a nós -

nós, mais baços, mais ingénuos, mais

porosos -

sentimos a luz

morna da lua, descer

e nivelar, qual água dando-se

à praia, intrépidas

e granulares diferenças.

© 2016, José Eduardo Coelho

Da Solidão das Coisas

Da Solidão das Coisas

Talvez a solidão das coisas

como pessoas aninhadas, em cantos

de jornais ou de livros - música selando as permeabilidades

indizíveis - de olhares azuis, incisivos

em vãos de escada

numa qualquer estação de metro

mole, cheia

adocicada

me atice

o desejo, o desespero, a crueldade de

cuspindo

despi-las, olhá-las

com o desdém de quem nelas vê

reflectido

a sua, mais que própria, única

solidão

dos dias.

© 2016, José Coelho

Nothing Compares To The Desert

Nothing Compares To The Desert

Time does its thing much faster

in the desert – for instance

life

becomes a frigid matter

of cyclic renovation and

efficiency kills any

squandering

Boulders remain after we pass

by

their sponginess, a sucker

for rain

Some have thwarted the desert

by acceleration of their inner

clock; and they've turned into dunes

microscopic shadows or even palm

trees, inhabiting springs

Siliceous units adjust against

a universal grail

each time men walk

the desert

Eagerly pursued

love – good or bad – is not

found in the desert; as boulders

it grows slowly inside

of you.

© 2016, José Eduardo Coelho

Ordinary Thoughts

Ordinary Thoughts

Close your eyes. There

is nothing

outside you. The world is

the sole reflection of your mind. Even

your body

is.

© 2016, José Eduardo Coelho

Estese

Estese

Aprumo que range, gotejando

ácido sorriso lascivo em mármore-leite

nacarado. Espessura tão débil

quão bela

e

amanhã

nada.

© 2016, José Eduardo Coelho

Cartão de Cidadão

Cartão de Cidadão

DNA felino, de insurgências

Corpo inteiro

nectáreo

Um ligeiro desequilíbrio

d'ancas

compensado

pelos lábios, desunidos

© 2016, José Eduardo Coelho

Ashore, Please!

Ashore, Please!

When I swapped

my residence

into the far right of my desk

making me less

present, as a verb skewed around

its meaning

and time

I became a

satellite possibility

one delimited by my self´s

shadow

and visibility

hopping along undesirable

subjects, watching others drinking

tea and wetting their fingers

in biscuits and unsafe sex – the sharing of

the most intimate form of

desire – I lick my fingers

dimming the perception of whom

is who

thinking

unwritten letters unfold -

my sweet home

drizzle - before me

slowly. I can read them

one by one, they hold

all the words that will and have

ever died in my mouth, a chemical

sequence from which

hope, hopefully can

be derived

But now it's

too late. The sun has shone

for enough clarity to

weaken

such plan.

© 2016, José Coelho

These Days

These Days

These days

remind me of last year's

days. The wind

pushing shutters out

of place, the warmth of late

summer blending with soft light and

the flies, in their black greedy costume

always sniffing after each last

chance of life

This predictable countdown

leaves me sad – the kind

of sadness you'll find

only in dreams

when all your emotional actions are

doomed in tameness -

and on the verge of a telluric

chasm

Stupidly

I wish I could be

somewhere else, like on

a boat crossing a sea

of swash before dashing

against new cities

yet

not far up in the mountain

a lonesome deer sheds

its long mating

call

Not far from now

as nights grow

longer, elements will

settle on proper ground

and so will

I.

© 2016, José Coelho