Poemas 40


Waiting to hear your voice,
without making the call.

I want to be sure before knowing:
‘cos the play had started without the star.
For once, want to follow the on-going
with no fear of going too far!

Maybe mistakes are my history
for starting to stop before it begins.
Maybe this scene of curious mystery
is nothing but a movie with no means.

If I’m wrong tell me right now,
I have no time to loose in confusions.
My inventive head is twisted and bow
between reality and haze delusions.

For somebody’s sake, what am I saying?
Am I crazy or is an ordinary madness,
that keeps me aroused for this raying?
I guess it’s a path for usual sulkiness.

What? Is that really truth?
You feel like calling but it seems so strange.
The play had started without you too.
I guess now we can try to arrange.

Now I could make use of a touch,
but I don’t know what you want me to do.
Who cares? It doesn’t need to be much.
I’d love to hear you’d eager me to touch you too.

So here we are. Bed so lonely.
Keening bodies of delayed desire
ask us to show how phony
it’s been the distance holding the fire.

Oh. I know. It feels so nice.
Enjoying relief and edging pleasure.
I’m playing now with my own dice.
Finding something was lost for sure.

[Outubro de 2001]

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