Fons vitae

Confidences linger on the palate
like slow clouds in an autumn sky. I blow them
away, and allow only a vague mist
to cling to what you want to tell me; but
your lips whisper in my ear and it is you who
tells me which sky this is, and from where
the clouds covering it have travelled. Feelings,
emotions, passions stand between
each sentence. There are no other subjects
when we meet and you start talking to me,
as if the heart were the only
source of what we say.

Nuno Júdice