Explore "The Minute After" by Carlos Drummond de Andrade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
With only nakedness, its final veil, the soul's still out of reach.
The body's fertile language can't detect or interpret it.
Beyond the skin, muscles, nerves, blood, and bones, our soul shuns intimate contact, the floral wedding, the deifying embrace of matter forever intoxicated by the sublime act of union.
We're but starving beggar who barely sniff the crumbs that banquet in the clouds celebrated by our flesh.
And that's why sensuality's sad one minute after ecstasy.