Photo: Joao Costa
Only nine
moons have passed and again the shadows, your sleepless nights, red
wounded heart would beat
flights across.
Gone was the boat and its depth, the deep crackle
burning jealousy,
would like to have died between
veils that yesterday you have tied sighs. Already
not return, so your trip.
Of all her love Cupid's arrow
a return ticket to your landscape,
a
depressed ticket to oblivion of the sea and its waves,
the pain of absence and sound.
Wind
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