Love is like...
He was a poet who spoke of butterflies
Gardens and springs
Slid into a rainbow
He believed in princes
Conversing with foxes
worshiped roses
Full moon and praised solstificios
He was a poet who lived
The fantasy of his writing
A love without measure
A poet who entered the poetry
He thought that the light reflected by the moon
It was his heart that one day
Sparked a muse
He was a poet who traveled
In loose-leaf fall
He felt the caress of the wind
She hugged the sea
He sang with sirens
He planted many gardens
Craving a single butterfly
The poet was mortally wounded
totally consumed
In the flame of love that fed
With poems and prose, passion and truth
It was full, intense, an accomplice ...
He gave his greatest treasure ...
His heart of a poet ...
Received in exchange ...
Suffering and pain ...
(Alexandre Costa)
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