Entre folhas ... You call love ...

You can call me beloved,

If she only loved me
A few moments.
Can I call you love?
Without even loving her ...

She loved me so intensely
I still remember the sweats
Of my forehead, impotence
Of my body before his,
The burning of your breasts at night
The touch of his lips,
The color of its haloes,
The candor of her nipples,
The continuous talking,
The peace of restless hours,
Sleep in your lap,
The whips of my limb,
The accumulated blood,
The excitement of the senses.

Hours that seemed years,
Have never passed,
So messed up in my mind,
Moments so intense and fleeting.
In the heat of my nights,
I dwell in his days.
Without knowing.

I must call you beloved,
I still love her.

In the empty night ...