20 QUASIDARKS POEMS – 7
“A sweet song,
a kiss enters me
and it hurts my heart. ”
They say the heart doesn’t hurt.
I imagine it a crazy muscle bundle
powered by blood that waters, pumps,
continuously, wildly, the whole body.
And it hurts. Right now I feel
the lung press it with your bellows
monstrous against something – and that terror
it takes my breath away. It hurts like I don’t even breathe.
I can’t even reason with this pain
that prevents you from lying in decubitus:
I sit in the armchair and some comfort
tells me that this position pleases him.
But the heart still hurts and makes me see
the problems, you’re communicating to me
the thousand difficulties you have to fulfill
the miraculous function of keeping me alive.
Much like old car engines,
suffering graying to climb uphill
- groan, smoke, shake. And how it hurts,
it seems to pass on a lenient message:
- I’m sick, says whimpering, I’ll stop
at any inaccurate time, without warning.
Heart does not kill (they say), death comes
with the end of brain activity. Well then. What does it matter? My heart surely hurts:
and when tired decide to stop at once,
nor need to give a signal or Notice:
I will also go with him solemnly. Of pain.
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CONSENOR – Uma Utopia Poética
CONSENOR – A Poetic Utopia
THEIR (Erotic fiction of their sexual memories)