Fruta Madura
Renato Sakate 1978 (Botucatu)
Ternura, fruta madura, mulher
contemplo os lábios qual cego, no tato
habito as lentes das mentes; contato
o seu retrato: fino, alvo e de pé!
Quando meu trigo acabava de fato
você, mulher, lambuzava a colher
me mordiscava da noite ao café,
não reclamava o sabor de meu prato.
Por isso, o instante que volta do nada,
minha ternura, é qual fruta madura
caída do pé sem qualquer chacoalhada
que se despede, indecente à amargura,
da vida antiga tão mal desfrutada
despindo-se úmida à mi'a semeadura.
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"Fruta Madura" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/118549/fruta-madura>.
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