O beijo

1


Night landed on its dark
4 wheels, the party was over.
He parked the car after driving me
to my mother's sleeping door, talked
and seemed to wait for another story.
It was getting near, fear.

He was so beautiful to me
I could see the jealous lines
forming themselves in the skies
of tomorrow's slices and
the hanging on blisters.
Just by feeling my cold feet
turning away from the
blazing white shirt smile,
I sure wasn't ready for it
not to be too beautiful to be us.

O beijo no while running away to
the certainty of not seeing again
with such a well closed door.

Years and years have gone by.
Not the kiss that never was to be
anything else than a lesson.

When beauty strikes
life to be it as such,
at best,
has been tried ever since
but many other
mistakes, or choices 
not loss at best,
are with the tip-dot-spot-ons.

Water flows lights in hay.
It's growing green again.
The worry stone in my pocket beats with 
unlost joy flowering in sunny steps.



 

 

 

My being is in thee,
Thy being is in me.
– Rumi
3

 

 

 

 

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