a violet velvet
sofa
there the piece
of art lies
naked, like the sun
dark as a tropical island
clean and shaven
in the silent mode
beauty speaks a lot
to contaminate us
with so much silence
our hearts grow wings
and then we feel so light
lighter than the wind
or a whisper and
we have nowhere to land
we conclude we are spirits
more valuable that such bodies
we are divine soaring more than
art, more than pieces,
reinvented and yet whole
back to ourselves our pelvis
and navels
our arms and legs
our lips our closing eyes
our warm breaths
upon early mornings...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem