Fragile
fingers, submerging thoughts
mine
long enough to cuddle one’s dance by
the vertical axis
pressed famine veins’ lust
draining my hand at
6 o’clock, the blood
inverted direction
causing a disemboguement recess
around the meaning of
pleasure, never to be
fulfilled;
her gasping fingers roll
over my forehead
climbing latitudes
now
as I measure their slenderness
with the touch
of tropics
echoing in the limber voices
jamming between us
now
just fingers
bathing their folds
under the bless of a full
white moon.
© 2014, José Eduardo
Coelho
