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.