sábado, maio 25, 2013


ten steps
till the end of the street
then perhaps
a cup of coffee
with no taste 
and a thoughtless croissant

the stairs are wildly silent
the bridge is yawning
neither waited for you
to come up as a blue sigh

the air doesn't even suspect
you've lost your name
and your name
has lost the wrinkles of your bed

murmurs of the river
under your feet
but all you feel is tickling

you don't even feel
the track of my voice
flooding your navel

it's dawn
and you haven't still noticed
your steps have finally become cobblestone 
perhaps in love

Frantz Ferentz, 2013

Sem comentários: