veils of light held you, other arms of mine
under heavy botanical roofs
loaded diaphragms
full of water
back then I was waking up blue
all blue, more than the world,
my days truly liquid, placental, lacrimosos,
hybrid creatures slippery and shiny
salt and sea in your sleeping hair
it was warm and humid where my words germinated
from the seed of your name shot and grew
little green multiplications
embryos of whispers and scents with their shy sounds
but me, indelicate me,
I was a forest fire trying to catch your eye
trying to buy your favorite words
trying to corner you within
my walls intertwined with clouds.
I was a hurricane twirling
fire and glass at the center of that night club.
There was a tiger in my chest
there was a song in my heart
and it said that all my gold was melting
and I finally could float
– look at your hands
aren’t they blue too?
your aquarium eyes
your bougainvillea mouth
I swim past your house and float upon your body
I’ll lower myself slowly and merge with
the greenery of you
Isabel Cordovil