two poets

I like to be your simple home
with the sun smiling on my roof
I like to be just a painting
or a dream
while the life walks without us

I never could be so perfect
than I am with the ocean before me.
I never could be so beautiful
and you never couldn't be so gentle
if didn't exist this poetic distance
separating our bodies

but I like that I can to be
finally, something easy
I like to think that I can be soft
like a cloud or a butterfly
fliting trough the trees

I know that everything we live
now, is like a gift or a sound
coming from behind the mountains
or hidden in the wild forest

At last, who could resist
the brilliance
that survives
in passionate eyes,
and to heat inside the heart
of two poets?





L. G.