YOUR PRESENCE

I feel your presence, as a confessor.
Even in the smallest of my gestures.

My blinking overflows with you.
During my eyelid closes, comes woo,
appearing like the sky blue, girl entire you,
demanding caresses from me,
imposing love on me. You domain me.

I feel your presence, as a confessor.
Even in the smallest of my gestures.

My spirit is entirely pregnant with you.
My smallest movements are related to you.
Your countenance is born to confuse me,
to, soon after, organize me, adorn me,
under the aegis of love. All of it for me.

I feel your presence, as a confessor.
Even in the smallest of my gestures.

When writing, you are born with the first drop of ink,
you grow with the first letter, you walk, made of ink,
with the first word and are immortalized, with this ink,
in the first verse, as a picture in words of ink.

Your presence, in the way you come to mind,
makes me dispense with even rhymes.

The figure of your body, surrounded by the kindness of your soul,
only reminds me of poetry. Your presence is within me, in my soul.

And as a simple poet I try to describe you with poetry,
knowing that you will always be much more in beauty,
body and soul, than what can be interpreted by the skill
and inspiration of any poet who insists with many wills
on pouring abstract figures onto a piece of paper, pour feel.
I feel your presence even in the gesture that no one sees.

I feel your presence, as a confessor.
Even in the smallest of my gestures.