Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta skin. Mostrar todas as mensagens
Mostrar mensagens com a etiqueta skin. Mostrar todas as mensagens

sexta-feira, 10 de março de 2017

Little Surgery

*Little Surgery*

When this city became a sequence
of names, paper based
memories filling the air with that
typical oxygenless odor
family decay bending stalks
thick as trees, names listed on both
sides of streets, sticking their endocrine flavor
upwards, the sky a worn out organism
pressing its blue against what used to be
the velvet of skins
Neither of us
remained, neither of us captured
the moment the seagulls
departed
though it was long depicted
on walls and written within books

All these years now, I have been dreaming
whether they miss that something
as much as I do; perhaps
the coming season
I will check around what
was left or
reborn alike and I plan to include
you.

© 2017, José Coelho


quinta-feira, 27 de outubro de 2016

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



quinta-feira, 7 de abril de 2016

Skin Will Erase Everything

Certain smells can remain
for ages
within the gaps
between tissues
of metal, wood, cotton
Skin will erase everything
alien to it self
within hours, at most
a day - the past becoming
what it should be
The past
however
pushing notes
whatever sort – song, lust, love
delivering them as foam
to the shore
our feet walk
will, one day, vanish
into a thin, flat
surface
So thin, we can't
touch it
not even see
properly -
perhaps discerning forms
of living things
and objects
in clouds and shades
is merely an exercise, for later -
the lines on the faces, on the streets, on the houses
and the trees balancing fast
too fast
so fast
our eyes doubt
they put a question mark
on time
For all those reasons
I shift
the weight above my forehead
down one and a half
hand
making it rest
on my
chest – which is
stronger
and doesn't think.

© 2016, José Coelho