The Lover

The Lover kissIt is soft and round
pink and smooth
sometimes exudes a perfume
some mouth
mouth of flowers
He draws in the air

touching ~even having a ghost   hands~

And he wonders

it is a woman’s sense
fooled by a  kiss in a glass
bottled in a bottle of perfume
It is silk!
And now he only wants stand there
between the anguish of seeing
but not being able to touch

It is soft and round
pink and smooth
beyond the window’s kiss

A Passionate’s Queue

A passionate’s queue
It is never fair
the First one loves no one
but just himself
(and I do not know what he is doing there)
But arouses tremendous love
in that girl who is just behind him
he never notice her or realized her existence

He is Narcissus in am empty view

The third one on this queue

is plenty of love and hate
for her and for him

That is an endless path
that is repeated in the corners
bars, houses. romances

and brothels

as vengence

feelings drowned in bottles and puffs of cigarettes

Just Whom loves someone

has the best view of things

but in charge

a heart that does not beat anymore

They remain stand on that place

full of first, second and third persons
with love, passion and desire

one day
someone , he or she

 that loved so much
in the both ways

the right way and inside out
on this poem and these hearts


will see yourself alone

He calls Cain as he intends to kill
She is called Aurora, the girl who cries
He, Oh! HE!
Nightfall , who loves no one but is loved by all
At Day, as Aurora love

At night as Narcissus drowned

Obs.:  This poem was written originaly in Portuguese.  Difficult to translate. Sorry for possible errors 🙂 🙂