sexta-feira, 26 de fevereiro de 2016


Here I am,
crushed in the desire of who I am
and of what remained after you;
curled up on the wail of hope
who died before being sea.

Here I am,
with the thirst on the edge of skin
and hidden hunger in reason that is no longer there.

Story unwritten, although dreamed,
unlived, yet already felt,
designed at dawn deflowering the night.

Here I am in this passage of me
in this search of us
and of each tomorrow we invented,
on every  morning.

Here I am,
in the splendor of nudity in late afternoon
waiting for the magic touch,
of your skin,
on my skin.

© Graça Costa