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Illusion

I will never love again if I have solitude as a companion.
I think of her with jealousy of someone imaginary who could steal from her a sigh, her attention.
She does not know that I exist and I die by cultivating this illusion.
I wanted to narrow the time, because I think I can win her one day.
Life wanders somewhere and this place is the immense night of poetry.
I photograph the sun to remove the day, I hold the moon to ensure the night that brings me joy.
But I know it takes more than a desire to turn the day into a night.
I do not preach, then, my eyes so as not to lose it for a moment, since it is your presence that feeds me.
Embrace it is a dream that knocks the emptiness, my arms are without presence, are my lips without pressure.
Yet some day I still make this fantasy my religion.

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  1. Anônimo24 de janeiro de 2022 às 11:17

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