I will not crush your smile, holy flower,
Not with a thought nor a kiss...
As fragile, pure, as you are,
You disturb my soul from the latter.
I hold you in the chest, with the palms of dew,
With the thoughts of the world, broken in two
And, dressed in the garment of a cloud,
I lay you in my verse, killed by longing.
Born from clay pains
And from the mornings I sneeze,
Stay shy, peaceful in the garden,
Embalmed in the rain of light.
When I walk, silent, on the path,
You give me color twilights
And slowly, I let myself waste to beauty
And I prepare my bouquet of life.
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