Português
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I thought someone would save her
(salvá-la) do engenho, máquina
of desire, the erotic exchange of gazes.
Between war and words,
ela balança seus cabelos loiros,
and holds me in her pupil’s image.
I want to water my garden
with her tears.
Roses, rosas, romântica.
The color is in the petal.
I give her flowers, but forgiveness doesn’t come.
Poem published in Zona de Carga/Loading Zone.
