quinta-feira, 6 de janeiro de 2011


On this erased catwalk of colors
your face illuminates the past
I open my arms
and fondling the void
fear and another look
your hand and flick the small air
designing a sound
spreads, slowly like a dream
drunk certainty
Tripping in poetry barefoot.
this avenue without asphalt
the bus stop in life
I signal and nothing stops.

when your kiss,
serene in the pale morning,
was fired at me smiling little, I had agreed, who knows the rain cross my face, and lying grow, the silence inside me,
thinking of you.

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