An old poem from Brasil, 2011.

ag
So full of passion, full of soul,
you’re full of tears and bullet holes.
Oh, Giovanna, tempt me not,
you’ve taken captive every thought
and laid it bare like aftermath;
you’re my beloved mustard gas.
In times of war, and when it’s still,
I picture you by window sills,
where all good summers go to die
and lovers fade like setting skies.
It’s here you weep in shades of green;
it’s here your movement sets me free.
You dance to rhythms soft as rain
and stir your legs to this refrain.
It’s here you laugh in shades of green.
It’s here your laughter sets me free.

e

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