Treasure Island

Poetheart (back)

(05/23/1960 / Rio de Janeiro)

He fed me


he feed me with words

what a delicate stomach that i have
such lovely skills he has

and the words ~ before ~so untied
now have a body and breathe

my breast arched like a bow
my breath so silently ~ rested ~



repeat an echo on my heart
feeling at the beginning

that was a soft blowing
no, no ~a murmur~ insisting



saying what i can't explain

a punch... makes me pull the air
while i inhale scent of fruits

and i tilt myself again
not as an arch but as a woman

what a sophisticated love is that

food me with his words and breathing me as his air

Submitted: Saturday, April 19, 2014

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Topic(s): love

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The story of a peach, mango and strawberries....

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