Girassol

Vanessa Augusta
Jul 24, 2017 · 1 min read
Foto por Marina Scotelaro

Desigual

Em pedaços saltados, caindo, me dou;

despetalo.

Dói até o caule e ainda assim me doo.

Tu me recebes, porém consigo pensas:

preferia inteira;

emudeço.

Mas eu, muda, se na tua mão floreio.

E se tu mudas na tua mão eu fico.

Vanessa Augusta

Written by

~ sejamos transitórios ~

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