At bay, splendid lights die slowly

In a languid sunset, traces of brightness rays

Over which, the sky seems to be infinite

At bay, waves splashing on our faces

Our clothes, soaked

We seem to not care

Far away, a lighthouse

And all city noises, dead

Over the horizon, an infinite blue of possibilities

Shearwaters, warbling

A song of love

At bay, where I seem to find you, my poet

And your wet kisses

By the bay

Where we seem to get lost,

Scarce seconds sliding from our hands

As we seem to be in a hurry

At the bay of all gods, of all lovers,

By the wall of a lighthouse

Those old days of maiden

Long gone

Jocilene Lima 02.02.2015