Traditions

Traditions

The grass on your face

your scarf, your hat, flowers:

       that’s not close to my desire

I want the lines in your dance

the loathsome sensuality of your attitude

the ungracious danger you so well defy

I want blood

seeping from your injured flesh

throbbing between two iron strokes

                                                      of my vanity

let me taint it all in orange powder

and throw it back to you as

humble as a grass

leaf

My blood is precious

Yours’ my victory!

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho