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

Sensitive Extra Xanadu

Sensitive Extra Xanadu

The tender fleshy lip
smudged
the glass of the window
making that hissing noise
rub the outer part
of my brain tissues, just
where the bone
caresses the mind;

the subtle contour of my
thoughts, rendered layers
of shadows, trying hard to prolong
and protect
the anti-natural nature
of the image my emotions
forged;

the hands
were free and
the eyes
were thirsting for reading
the mouth not
eating or speaking or breathing
but

why is it so hard
to explain
sex?

© 2014, José Eduardo Coelho