From where ?
I am thinking about that…since you told me ” how much”.????..So you obliges me to think…it’s too much reality to me my friend….What i know that is not something that i posses and arrives as the same way when i cry…never knowing why?
My company is always the doubt , solitude and some sense of aesthetic …. inside me, deeply, has a cauldron…like the witches have….bubbling and brimming…. sometimes rainbow’s colors sometimes poison… That it is not fair…knowing anything…explaining less and bubbles everywhere….
My Poetry rules myself with such nonchalance …demanding from me a secular and monastic posture… as religion …i can not be poetry if not all moments in life..changing without explanations… feelings captured from others becoming my….
I am at autumn’s age, still finding myself in many ways, colors, sorrows..
So i have to give up to think ..it is not so important…since i still preserves the bubbles inside me…. and i am releasing them slowly ….. thought sometimes i need to overflow.
give me a little of bright light
a subtle shadow from your curves
did i mention the eyes? They are mine
despite the good and evil that i saw
my gift to see through all human’s souls
and that sustain all my affliction
i need to demand to you again
Give me your shadows and curves
to soothe my soul and drain my addiction
because i have to see….that is all that i know
but is not my choice to reveal
My eyes and heart frozen
in a flash ~so many times~
muscles sore in pain’s nights
alone and witness from other’s fret
I need a love to redeem
my eyes ~for what they saw~
my heart ~ by the constantly disordered beats~
as you bless me and i stop ~here~ just to see you
” No wonder that Adelia Prado said that “the soul is erotic.” They are wrong who think that erotic is the body. The body is only erotic by the worlds by walking on it. Erotic does not walk according to the directions of the flesh. She lives in the interstices of words. There is no love that resists an fantasy empty body . An empty body fantasies is a dumb instrument, which does not leave any melody”.
its does not matter your age
i can simply love you
at seventeen or seventy
at seventeen as a boy
and i’ll laugh from you
and teach you the sweetness of life
at seventy as a man
probably i would loved you
pausing your hands in my
there has a room between us
may you ask me why
is because ~where is the 30, 40 and 50~?
i read about that and i saw this love
in a movie…so
i dont know anything how big love is
If yours are so so immense
as a lake…
if you can be the mirror over what happens
~inside my heart~
and all is equal
my love…your love…
strange and infinity
Have we meet each other
I ask you…. have i loved you one time…in my life?
as the time pass by
together ….with a Changed Love?
does not matter
at seventeen or seventy
Is love anyway
my poetry ~ a little drunken~
reading and thinking on Bukowski
i dont know why…. my poetry never comes from a bar….or a drink
She refuses and put me to sleep
but now She comes numbed ~HIC~
I just need a strong coffee at morning
a slice of bread ~a cream cheese~
and all remorse can wait….
a person passing by my memory
a caress ~if possible~
an invite…. a remembrance
…. to me to write…
using my round sunglasses
~at home ~ and an email in eyes Titled
~If you leave me now ~
( I am not leaving no one) ~ i dont know how to explain that~
I sat…. a little dizzy…
pale face trembling hands
with my drunk poetry and
my dear Bukowsky in mind
and an invite to response
Is all that i need to write……
Foreign, Foreign ~They are announcing your Name~
you make me laugh
I make you blush ~ in response~
don’t worries sailor
we are sailing in the middle of sea and wind
and my kisses are the announcement of my departure
(when i write to a stranger) ….
maybe my kisses one day
crushed ~by the palm of your hands~
could become welcome
so i’ll keep making you blush
and you keep making me laugh