Só te quero devorar...
Com um gesto sedutor
Mergulhas vezes sem fim
Gritas de desejo e dor
Nada pode ser melhor
Com um gesto sedutor
Mergulhas vezes sem fim
Gritas de desejo e dor
Nada pode ser melhor
Silence
The lights are dim. A soft tune plays through the columns, and the bartender is distracted talking, inaudible, through the kitchen door.
Lost in thoughts, you swirl your glass of red wine: A Primitivo of doubtful quality in a land of beer. It does not matter. The bar is not a place for wine. It’s a place to drown sorrows, forget reality, get convivial with strangers.
It looks empty. Hotel bars have stopped being romantic after spies moved online. They lost their charm, alongside clients. Sitting on a corner of the room, you turn the head to the TV, where the latest F1 race highlights are shown. Big crash of the national hero. You don’t understand the language, and decide to sip the wine. Remembering everything, you don’t stop there, and just drain the glass in one go.
Slowly, you put it down, and turn to order another one. But realize a new appeal in the charmless bar. A tall, blonde, well built man is looking in the void, lost in his thoughts. Had he gone unnoticed when coming in, or had he arrived silently? Doesn’t matter. Something about him seems different. Appealing. Enticing. Is it the wine, or the sip? Or maybe a deserted soul anxious for sprouting life into a luxurious Oasis?
Whatever the reason, you hold back. Let the wine sink in, the head drop back into the velvet sofa headrest. And turn it, exposing neck. Suddenly, you realize he is no longer staring in the void, but looking straight into your eyes. Rather than pulling away, standing up, climbing back to the lonely room, you let your eyes dart desire. Then lay your head back, put the hand to the neck and caress the increasingly open cleavage, in an unspoken, unavoidable, invitation. The righteous man calls the waiter, orders a glass of red wine. Grabs his gin, walks towards you.
“May I sit? I see you finished your glass, ordered another.”
“Sure. Hello stranger.”
The next day, the sun his slowly coming through the small opens in the blinds.
There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.
Lost in thoughts, you swirl your glass of red wine: A Primitivo of doubtful quality in a land of beer. It does not matter. The bar is not a place for wine. It’s a place to drown sorrows, forget reality, get convivial with strangers.
It looks empty. Hotel bars have stopped being romantic after spies moved online. They lost their charm, alongside clients. Sitting on a corner of the room, you turn the head to the TV, where the latest F1 race highlights are shown. Big crash of the national hero. You don’t understand the language, and decide to sip the wine. Remembering everything, you don’t stop there, and just drain the glass in one go.
Slowly, you put it down, and turn to order another one. But realize a new appeal in the charmless bar. A tall, blonde, well built man is looking in the void, lost in his thoughts. Had he gone unnoticed when coming in, or had he arrived silently? Doesn’t matter. Something about him seems different. Appealing. Enticing. Is it the wine, or the sip? Or maybe a deserted soul anxious for sprouting life into a luxurious Oasis?
Whatever the reason, you hold back. Let the wine sink in, the head drop back into the velvet sofa headrest. And turn it, exposing neck. Suddenly, you realize he is no longer staring in the void, but looking straight into your eyes. Rather than pulling away, standing up, climbing back to the lonely room, you let your eyes dart desire. Then lay your head back, put the hand to the neck and caress the increasingly open cleavage, in an unspoken, unavoidable, invitation. The righteous man calls the waiter, orders a glass of red wine. Grabs his gin, walks towards you.
“May I sit? I see you finished your glass, ordered another.”
“Sure. Hello stranger.”
The next day, the sun his slowly coming through the small opens in the blinds.
There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.
Tall and strong, blonde and righteous.
Personal love has typically been thought too wonderful to remove from human life; but it has also been seen (not only by philosophers) as a source of great moral danger because of its partiality and the extreme form of vulnerability it involves, which make a connection with jealousy and anger virtually inevitable.
velho trapo
new adventures. new horizons. new companions. new sensations. new objectives. new desires.
new vehicles, new routes.
new heart and soul.
while I, I remain the same old wrap.
new vehicles, new routes.
new heart and soul.
while I, I remain the same old wrap.