Open Letter To Carina Poem by Pedro Cescon

Oh, don't get me wrong,
It is also for the sex,
I love the sex,
And about it, I have no complaints,

But how do I miss your hums,
While you look at the sky,
From through the wooden window,
By my side over the bed sheets,
And the touch of your skin,
So warm,
So hot,
So cool,

And your eyes,
I miss how they look at mine,
Like shinning beacons at the sea,
Peering at the wooden windows,
That my brown eyes seems to be,

And how I miss your steps,
On the wooden floor
As you wander naked by the room,

For that I apologize,
I rarely seem to know what you're searching for,
But that is only because I'm lost,
On the curves of your body,
And on the locks of your hair,

And how I miss your scent,
From when we dance the most savage valse,
Or when we play the hardest raging rock,
Or while we float upon the waves
Of an ocean of blues,

And I miss when you inquire me,
Why I bathe in the rain,
And when I give you the most dull answer,
You join me at the vanity
Of being out in the plain,
Sharing the preciousness,
Of a love with no gain,
Besides cracked words,
That as a poet I shed in vain

I miss your sweet voice,
Whispering obscenities in my ear,
And I miss your swift hands,
Caressing my body,
Making me laugh,
Making me smile,
Making me excited,

I miss how it is easy,
To pull smiles out from you,
Amused like a child,
But gorgeous in your prime,

More than missing you,
I sense a feeling that, in word,
Doesn't exist in this language,

I love you from all my heart,
In many meanings of love,
More than missing, what I feel is...

Saudades...