sexta-feira, 8 de abril de 2011


Walking Ice-Cream


I could lick her whole body

Like an ice-cream

On a summer day,

The blonde like some

Other blondes

I´ve tasted, but with

This yellow jacket,

Everything on her

A sunlight,

A lemon juice

In hell.

Fast steps, fast steps,

Touching eyes

Hidden souls

Ticking clocks to nothing

And probably

I will never see her again,

At least not with the same eyes.



B.