Do You Dance The Tango Lg Poem by For Matilde

Anguish, it's sharp chord
is vaster than sadness
than anything
anything
in the small room the Fado
drains the melancholic air
in the cellar bar near the river
the Tango is danced
to the blissful wounds of music
mute now, always silence
between the sounds
of love, fire and grace
stilled beneath the skin of fingers
the pulse of art faint and numbed
like a guitar in cold ground
love, an arpeggio
of descending sounds
hung like a silkworm
from a sleeping branch
a sweet delirium
the mouth a rose
deeper than anything
than anything
anything