Waking into a deeper sleepI remember your eyes, half-closed and hesitatingso as not to swallow the salt of wordsand how you mothered every ounce of deaththrobbing in our throats when the evening camedrumming its hooves at the doorstep;I remember the fiery swayof smoke-curtains and swollen syllablesscraping our retinas like carefully broken glass,the nausea of doubt like rusty woundsand my arms stretched across the Atlanticas if to part the waves into fractionsof fractions of fractions just to geta different perspective of things.There was always something deeply nocturnal about your gaze,how it waited in sync with minefor the gargantuan
farpasnunca te menti. tu sabes isso.também sabes que não há volta a dar.sempre to disse.assim me sento, sabes, em vigia constantee incansável sobre a sombra da minha sombracomo um formigueiro debaixo da língua indecisa,teimoso em ver a morte morder a minha mão febrilsem saber se é silêncio ou labaredaeste som que arrepia o pó das minhas pálpebrasquando finjo dormir.o coração, esse, há muito me empurra para Oestecom o veneno que nos é tudo.
HourglassI wasn't meant to fly, you know,she sings with a frown,Winter clinging to her bonesand swollen veins--and I never asked to be hurledonto the wind's path like this.All of this dust that we gatherin our chaliced handsmeans nothing,nothing at all;I am but the bitter limbof an Autumned treeand the withered childof a stubborn moon;it was always thusand always thus will be.I tug at her stringswith rain-harp handsand shiver, shiver,shiver:My wings are but silhouettes;bitter, bitter silhouettes, you see;I've watched birds fly like sonatasand always wonderedhow they do it.I wish not to fly, though,I
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