Eneia Veredas

 

Indefinite

I'm going to make you a poem

worthy of thee, of scophre, the

Slap your face with the grimace

with vagueness, somewhat vague

but only the apparent image.

A poem with whiskers,

No big arrangements

without great solutions,

Feline and needy.

Other beasts tame themselves,

Not this one.

in of Amores Imortalis