All the things that we keep
and whisper only to the dark
are the ones that leave a mark,
they have a voice that cuts deep...
Such as how willing I was to die
for us when it felt best,
my hair spreaded over your breast -
no one would be luckier than I.
Or how my hand is now where yours was
as though the earthly thing you had to give
could ever be or feel holier
than the forever in your lips' pause
which, unlike the touch from that water,
offered me much more things to believe.
02 de julho de 2019
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