Alma Novaes

 

Draw by Carlos Peres Feio

Elegy to thoracic elevation

(with triumphal diadem)

Theory

Sing the tongue until it hurts,

No rhyme or anxiety

Horny, desire, frenzy?

I never had it again and

The white hair in disarray

the eyes of before still remember,

in the semi-closed position

As in a fado or prayer,

The Crimson Lips

The legs, spread open

Pain, the rose lying on the ground.

years later, still housed

Ad-hoc in danger of death

In the already sterile poem

of an author page. 

Love?

I never saw it again, as well as sex 

and the pupils fall in my naked dress, 

aligned with the rose, 

diadem under construction

On the threshold of our fire

Practice

Fucked like animals, lost to instincts

In the smell of old memories,

From the initials!

They didn't think they had forgotten

rage, hunger, anguish, reflexes

of this impossibility! Never.

Thirsty, eyes glued together

to the skin of the eyes of the other's skin.

Iris sunk into iris, oval half-closed.

-I want you! - (speech dismissed)

The sword rises, hand on waist 

and dances and brushes, 

swims without foot, holds, brakes, 

dilemmas, passion, joy, 

moans and dismounts, 

downstream of madness

Grunts and phonemes, theories 

and enclaves, realizations that meant 

"fuck" or "eat" or "bleed" and 

all the rest was goosebumps 

in the scalding dermis.

Sex erupts tail, lust,

Sperm river corruption.

And hunger of all hunger

To eat and want more

Sighs, sweating, tiredness

End of a long time

If Tantrism comes from so much,

In the abundance of desire

(Rear pirouette and spooning)

"Give me a hug," I whispered.

And a strangeness of people 

took over the space

In the arms of the other, all eternity shrank.

Tomorrow was not foreseen, 

not in that smell, in that body,

in that chemical dimension of moment