in Portuguese

do not make me cry again
for tears will erase the traces of the lines
i drew across your body
paper where i inscribe the future
to be read by your future lovers
reflecting but glimpses of you
as i open my eyes from the dreams
we dreamt
to find them oblivious to your scent
porous skin where the ink rests
from the speed of my pen
writing rapid incisive certainly
(happily
you wanted me to say)

In the papyrus of your skin
where hieroglyphs that only i can decipher
consider the future
where no tears are shed
i cry not onto flimsy reflections
of you
i fear
already
so soon
sooner than anyone can see
though they will love me
maybe more maybe less

my love
you will depart much sooner than I
leaving me here
blowing the ashes
i can not keep

(for she won't let me)

so with her i'll scatter you over the sea

where i dive
while they know nothing of me
and you
and the tears we shed in-between
the sheets and the legs and the tongues
and the thousand words
blurred by the sweat of us
transferred onto the sheets
where I lay them
oblivious to me
and you
for none of them
none of them will ever read
Portuguese
and in none of them
none of them
will I write
amor
in long curvaceous calligraphy
accompanying the shape
of your body
now ashes
blown
over the roundness of the waves
you and I alone
made
the day
I recorded the whispers
you blew in my ear
so I would not forget

my dreamy Portuguese
woman
disremembered
all
but the words
we agreed to inscribe in her body

burnt

today

all gone
but the love of me
yet, I write not
in Portuguese