Imitating Possoa


He comes to me in the the early morning hours bringing gentle awakenings and an offering of caresses touching down there in the forbidden with an intent; 

sometimes without words. But then there are times when he pours out his tales of survival out on me and each time to my amazement where others would harbour it. 

And nonetheless he holds nothing back, not anything leaving but speechless; as if he was unknowingly the hero who automatically beacons to the call of duty with such strength when it is really to our human nature, that shear will of existence that when nature steps in to overcome us with what pain previous lovers was taken from us. 

A part of our life that was taken from him once, twice; maybe more; now finding the love of his life who is waiting nervously, as he runs his fingers through her hair. 

Like Pessoua, at the last step, and can’t hide his smile anymore, watching his eyes widen as he sees her; he looks down shyly takes her to the floor. 

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