:::em tudo (foto: Rafael Bertelli)

terça-feira, novembro 05, 2013

That night

 That night

I wiped her face and my hands got wet
There was a teardrop wishing to fall on the wooden floor
I balanced it on the tip of my index finger
and laid it on my bed to then - on its insignificance - rest my head.

Ensure my sleep, sweetheart
Be my loyal serf, be my guard
Be fed by the words I've never said
And for the future I've mangled, be sad

No sign of regret even though I knew I might
She stood there in the dark
The poor little girl under no light
Under no circumstances would she depart

As if she got no pride
She whistled a song and got undressed
Her face still drowned in a puerile cry
She danced her way to the bed as in a pagan rite

She prayed in my ears
There was no begging, no forgiveness
I loved her as if she could save me one more time
As if she could be my sweet dreams that night

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