Olha! The young are dancing; grandmothers are curling their hips; the lovers, busy loving; the boy, rolling his cigarette; the girl sighing, “Ohh la la.” We play every day.
Night reveals us. We have traveled the world three times between us– the journey ends here.
We drink 1.50 euro wine in water bottles from Senhor Costa. At first sip, vinegar blazed its way down our timeline, but now we see tomorrow. In Portuguese, your poems makes sense– we are realized– a melody to sing along to, the last verse, incense permeating the night, the unconscious drawn to the fore.
Let’s chisel, mold, break each other down– again. Let’s chisel, mold, break each other down. We’re artists and can’t help but discover new things. Let’s bathe in stars. Let pearls flake on the floor. Let’s wear eternity around our necks. Let dust coat our ears after the bath. Words ooze like molasses off your tongue and coat my limbs– let’s create visions.
You said, “The body pays.” Oh new one, these ideas are for tomorrow. “When the head is convinced, the body suffers. Let it suffer. Let it suffer, if you’re liking it.” We imagined this moment before birth, but let’s talk about this tomorrow.