sexta-feira, 20 de novembro de 2009


Can you give me an exact description?
Said the policeman. Her lips,
I told him, were soft.
Can you give me, he said, pen in hand,
a metaphor?
Soft as a slightly open mouth, I said.
Did she have any peculiarities?,
he asked. Long hair? Very long, I said.
Colour? I told him I could recall
little but its unmistakable scent.
What do you mean by unmistakable?,
he asked. It was the scent of a woman's hair, I said,
like Spring's younger sister.
Where were you?, he inquired.
Closer than I am to you,
close to her mouth,
to her eyes.
Her eyes?, he said, what about her eyes?
Both dark as the darkest pools, I said.
Was there any violence?, he asked.
Only the gentle hammer of her kisses,
her fleshy tongue,
the scent of her breath like a year of Summer, the... I see, interrupted
the policeman, standing up, and I am
sorry, but we know of no girl
answering to that description,
he said, putting the pen away.

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