a trégua

seus beijinhos
de passarinho
são como uma bonita tarde de sol
em meio aos dias chuvosos

(meus beijos famintos
são como uma assombrosa
noite fria de lua cheia)

Chapter 58

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on every expression of the latter which, in her ladyship’s apprehension, peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance; in the belief that such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise. “It taught me to hope,” said he, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”

(Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice [1813])

[feelings I thought didn't exist anymore...]

mundo de sombras

caminhamos pelo vale da sombra da morte,
e o que querem de nós é temor.
mas o medo de amar é o medo de ser livre...
medo, medo, medo:
é ele o abismo que separa
esse arremedo de ser humano que somos
de todo o sobre-humano que todos podemos ser
- porque somos forças cósmicas,
distintas, sim, mas nem tanto,
das infinitas vastidões universais.

(desperto do meu sono inquieto com
o metal das máquinas pós-apocalípticas,
espectros sônicos a perturbar
o que deveria ser meu reencontro diário com
o essencial estado de latência
- o mesmo em que cada árvore repousa
dentro de cada semente.)

poliamorosa

sou sempre eu e sempre minha, como a lua:
mas tenho, também, as fases de ser dele,
e as fases de ser sua. 

Jojo

epítome da elegância:
apontam para a perfeição
sua pelagem brilhante,
mais densa que o céu noturno;
as íris da cor da terra,
que faíscam, serenas,
ao sol da sesta;
seus modos de deitar-se
como musa de Velázquez;
seu gesto de aninhar-se
buscando o calor de um afago;
o olhar dengoso e manhoso,
doce como o mel de Oxum

escreve-se

...e, ainda assim,
a ferida está aberta,
a sangria não estanca,
a dor é forte
(demais pra mim)

...por um sem-número de motivos
quando eu queria apenas um:
a verdade transparente
(mas a literatura é opaca,
uma conjuntura complicada que abarca
a ideologia
e a realidade)

...e os detratores pisam
na solidão intrínseca do ato
- como se eu fosse louca,
como se eu não soubesse
com todas as células do meu corpo
a verdade do que eu digo

e por falar em loucura,
entrego pro Álvaro
isso que não sei mais como dizer:

"Não, não creio em mim.
Em todos os manicómios há doidos malucos com tantas certezas!
Eu, que não tenho nenhuma certeza, sou mais certo ou menos certo?"

(nosso sentimento não é de brinquedo...)