Dec. 21, 2014

Dom Da Dor

Dor

The pressure on my point
The pain of my curves
The crack of my twists
The aches of my wrings
The needles thru my thumbs
The slips of my steps
The stings of the cold
I give all these to you

Dom da Dor

The reflections of beauty
The slivers thru my fingers
The dips of my brushes
The sores of my strokes
The joys of my colors
The glares of my glee
The dances of my pupils
The throbbing of my temples
I tenderly accept

© Rossana Reis, 2014