janeiro 13, 2009
perfect circlelate night
black steamy coffee
spilled over red covers
hands with rings, still
symbols that never will
sleep
one morning
worn down, cracked
graffiti wall of such colors
what is a photograph
but another stubborn refusal of time
like the salt
that took (an evil) care
of the snow
beneath the sleepy eyes
of the sun,
i, too, felt uninspired
one evening
liquid limbs all over the streets
red clouds crown buildings
rough water from a tap
reflects my boots, dripping
warm is the painting on the wall
dissolving into mist
and touching my hair
slightly
maria 5:07 AM 1 vociferando estavam