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Quando aquilo que alguém diz é exactamente o que nos vai na alma deve, humildemente, substituir tudo o que temos para dizer.

Um desabafo da alma perfeito, por Tiffany Anderson (in Elephant Journal)

I don’t need forever with you—
just now, tonight.

Right now I don’t need anything more
than the weight of your arms
across my waist
and your skin as warm as your breath,

than the dance of our fingers,
tangling with each other’s, mine comb through your hair,
tracing gingerly down your neck,
the sides of your stomach,
watching your skin goose bump;

your’s so delicate for their rough skin,
effortless across the curve of my hips—like sand caught
in gentle salty breezes.

I don’t need anything more than
to feel my back arch at your touch,
those same arms pulling me closer as if to embed my body in yours—
as if I could leave at any moment.
I won’t.

I will weave my legs with yours
and kiss your chest, your jaw,
find your lips with mine
and lose myself there—

your kisses as heavy as your questions,
your words as laced with intimacy as your
gentle tongue.
I don’t need promises of forever,
but oh is it sweet to listen to
your naked honesty.

I only need your raw truths in these moments—
to ride the confessions,
the fears,
the immediacy of every emotion—
when everything is this potent
there is no room to wonder why,
only know that
we are meant
for a forever’s worth
of nows like this.



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