O desejo é uma criança cheia de vontades
Ele possui tudo o que quer
Que tudo o que pode possuir
Não se diz NÃO ao desejo
Aceita-se.
Ou ele há de perpassar seus poros
Adentrar sua carne
Rasgar por dentro
ARDER.
Não se antecipa ao desejo
Ele vem. Virá. Veio.
Desfeito no ar
Diluído nas cores de olhos
em todos os tons de azul
Em meio à saliva de um beijo
No gosto de cigarro
Ele arranca de si um pedaço
Que ficará com ele
E não mais voltará.
Não se diz NÃO ao desejo.

I don't even know how to start it and I've probably chosen my second language because it feels more comfortable - English is icy, cold, shallow. 

But you touch me. You touch me in so many ways and you barely know it. And I feel all those tiny but strong strings attached to me pulling myself towards you. I feel as though my whole soul could just walk away from my body to meet yours. And talk.

Oh, and talk.

And how I wish I didn't feel so much. 

And I try to. 

I try to ignore the feeling down my spine when your brain (expressed through your words) seems to just match mine. I try not to admit there is something about the way your mind works and your body talks and your eyelids move that could not possibly match anyone. Ever.

I try to be reasonable and comprehend all those gaps that can set us apart at anytime.

And I try not to. 

I try not to act AS IF. Because ifs just don't matter. They lie. I try not to show how delightfully in love with your brain I am.

But I am. 

Undoubtedly.