i want my body burned #poetry

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i want my body burned on pyre

a Viking boat will take me far on the cold sea

i want to leave my grave goods for the poor

and take the pain which branded their souls

into a bursting aurora borealis fire

i want to feel the sobs of the North Pole.

 

i want to burn inside the rhythms of the flamenco

flame in the dancers’ passion in the streets of old Córdoba

i want to entertain rich masters for a piece of bread

drowned in the silent cries of those who are misunderstood

i want the desperation of the dancers dressed in red.

 

and you, the one who always claimed to know

what powers lie inside the jungle of my soul

you’ll fade into your own acoustic lamentations

the fated day when i, the queen of sufferers, proclaim

that in the sanctity of the mandala

i want to disappear without a name.

conquerors #poetry

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the boat is shaking, and the wind is coiling

far is Phoenicia and its glassware

aromas of old cedar trees and wine,

silk, pomegranates, and dyes

the salt encrusted on your naked body

it hurts my lips

my nostrils flare

stop touching me!

into the dimmest light

my eyes can see the land that we will conquer

let’s anchor our boat

unload the cargo

and then let’s rest under the starry sky

 

tomorrow morning

rip the Tyrian purple from by body

make love to me like you have never done before

forget the hunger for the shores now left behind

we’ll build a home

we’ll mix the copper with the linen yarn,

with melons, and with apricots

we’ll sink into the fantasies

of all the conquerors who came before

we’ll light in silky skies the brightest sun

we’ll never die

for our children will be here

when others just like us

will come

and call this land

Costa del Sol.

she is just eyes #collaborative poetry

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“she is just eyes,” a poem in collaboration with bogpan. You can find more of his wonderful poetry on his blog.

she is just eyes

tonight
the moon rests on her neck

i write with a black feather her words
fragile lines on my palms

a sibyl prophesizes

a buzzing bee

reaches out like a cat

above the hills of Florence
like Galileo Galilei I exclaim
“And yet it moves”

the bee lands on her shoulder
my eyes are burning blue

marry me #poetry

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when clocks announce mid-night

and lovers fall into a mystic scented sleep

run with me and let’s get married

in the blue forest of my dreams

let’s walk barefoot in the middle of the glen

look, frantic butterflies entangle in my hair

whispering fresh daisies drape my body

green leaves dress quietly your naked shoulders

the moon sets our altar among trees

crickets sing the symphony of love

like church choirs in the dusk

steel a star and set it on my finger

on the cobweb of yellowish moon rays

tree sap seals our union forever

your soul starts flowing into mine

let’s not move until the morning

when we will witness our bodies

merging into a fascinating cosmic tree

marry me!

*******

inefficiency does not inspire me. 

i am the one #poetry

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i am the voice of your past loves

resounding in your wildest fantasies

dressed in roses at the altar of your dreams

i am the one you’ve never had

my soul flows from the tears of the Nile

from the hands of children who still beg

through ruins, darkness, and deep pain

through wars which they will never understand

i am the last who will be saved

for i have sinned under the shadow of your cross

when Spanish fountains cry in the sunset

i am the Desdemona who you’ve never met

today Granada’s just the place

in which Garcia Lorca once was killed

i am the feather of a gold macaw bird

and in the city where bells toll

i am the one whose cries you’ve never heard.

Shadow Boxing #Glass Lovers

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Glass of tequila in his hand, white shirt half open on his chest, raillery in his powerful voice, Jacques’ eyes pierced into Miquel’s:

‘Salud Conquistador!’

Miguel laughed, handsome as sin, wind in his inky hair, flames in his green eyes, hands caressing my hips.

‘A votre santé, mon Maréchal de France!’ 

His laughter resonated in the depths of the night. A shrill echo came back through the cool air.

*

Jacques’ blue eyes fixed into mine. My eyes flickered into his. He spoke:

“Sin takes place in the mind not in the flesh.”

Shock. Jacques was forcing me to fight my own shadows. My hands pressed on Miguel’s; my body tensed. Miguel’s lips shivered.

Knifes were out. All bets were off.  One of us was going to break.

*******

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers

Photo credit: Pixabay

The Purple Lotus #morning fantasy

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I open my eyes.

Shimmers.

Over the night an enormous spider transformed the canopy of the bed into a cobweb made from white diamond dust.

I can see you through it.

You are by the lake.

My royal purple lotus floats silently on the surface of the water.

Morning dew adorns the grass.

In the music room the piano starts playing.

A bunny jumps on my bed. Is that one of your tricks?

Indelible memories of a night in which your hands touched my body come alive.

Silk embraced by skin.

You dive and swim toward the purple lotus.

One of your fingers touches its petals.

My pupils dilate.

No!!!!

I didn’t tell you. There is a love curse. He who touches the lotus…

I can’t hear my voice anymore.

The music hits a crescendo.

The lake freezes.

It’s over.

Through sheets of ice Merlin, the Wizard, smiles.

sail me in your boat #poetry

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i smell salt and mangoes

algae float on lips

humid sunset juices

linger on my body

sheets are soft like grass

in the breeding season

of passions made of glass

 

sail me in your boat

neurotic waves

washing on my breasts

when fires burn old altars

verse for me a moon

to wear it on my finger

breathe with me the waters

where love forever lingers.

death in june #poetry

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it’s june

and cherries ripen

under the burning moon

erotic pollen settles on the books

young girls are tossing in their sleep

 

and in the kingdom by the sea

there is no sign of Annabel*

the symbolism of the great poet dead

the verse a sensually braided thread

 

the grass is shedding tears

on my naked body

loneliness is weeping

at your feet

and in the kingdom by the sea

i’m slowly dying

longing for your kiss.

*

Reference to “Annabel Lee,” by Edgar Allen Poe

Aromas of Love #night fantasy #Ragtag Daily Prompt

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A full moon weeps cold fragrant oil on my face.  I shiver.

The cicadas’ song penetrates the ethereal membranes of the space.

On one of my thighs a purple mark sighs and then falls asleep.

Looking for prey a snake’s tongue splits the time in two. I feel the bite.

*

The gallop of your horse on one side of the time.

Echoes of febrile nights of love invade my body.

I can smell roses.

I can hear the song:

Ay, ay, ay, ay
Ay, ay mi amor
Ay mi morena de mi corazón

 *

On the other side of time a church bell tolls.

Silence and sanctity carved in wood.

Roots.

Lingering in my nostrils fragrances of white ginger flowers overpower the scent of the roses.

Humid fingers caress my lips.

Ay, ay, ay, ay
Ay, ay mi amor…

Hidden in oils aromas the end waits to be written.

 

 

The Beginning #Glass Lovers (excerpts from the introduction)

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Our story began in France. From there it took us to the United States, to Mexico, to Canada, and back to France. On the shadows of Sacré-Cœur, our laughter gone, our wills broken, our souls scarred, longing for what once was us. Our future, heavy darkness starring back at us from a white abstract past:  like Malevich’s famous Black Square hanging on an indifferent wall.

*

Who was to blame for all that happened? As the story progresses I invite you, my dear readers to be the judges and the jurors. We could not judge ourselves anymore. We did that too many times. We got nowhere.

*

There were four of us:

Miguel, my mirific Conquistador: Moorish passions bursting from his Mediterranean skin, gleaming green eyes only half open in our nights filled with lust. His eyes look almost white in the dark. Oh, those nights when after making love he used to hold me in his arms against the window of our condo watching the lights of the city reflecting into the sky. He used to murmur rhythms of Mariachi songs while kissing my neck. Miguel, and his love for me. Miguel, my mundo nuevo.

*

Jacques, a Norman knight at heart: blue eyes cold like ice, expensive, impeccable shirts.  Jacques, in love with the complicities of the smiles that one only finds in the streets of Paris. Jacques and those cuff-links of his made from gold, and encrusted with roses.  Oh, how I remember Jacques’ laughter! It sounded like the reverberations of an iceberg falling into the sea.  Jacques, who used to say: “The beauty of this city creates us, for we cannot create beauty anymore.” Was he right?

*

Miriam and that seraphic face of hers, her short black dresses scented with jasmine, her love for Jacques whispering like shadows on the roofs of Paris during purple dawns.  Miriam and her paintings violating the silence of her studio from which one could see Notre-Dame. Miriam watching silently Rodin’s Gates of Hell. I always wondered what she thought about it.

*

And then there was me: Clara. Who was I? We have time for that later.

*

How could four people who tried so much not to hurt others, end up hurting each other so deeply? How could we let all that happen to us?

According to our dear friend Angelo, a Greek born in America, it was my fault. I was the one who mistook reality for my imagination. I was supposed to know better.

Oh, no, Angelo, no! It was not like that! It was more like the Billy Goat curse. We were not destined to win until the curse was broken.

********

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers

destiny #poetry

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your poems tattoo

new destiny lines in my palms

i bleed scented roses

colored in Pompeian red

my hair entangles in hibiscuses

stolen from the tropic of cancer

the bed grows thick aerial roots

the wind plays an archaic song

i toss and turn in silky sheets

it smells pines and dark ocean

your heavy kisses fall on my palms

my destiny lines lead to your soul

i wake up

where are you?

a lonely verse sleeps on my pillow

a rose sighs

bleeding love

romance of the rose #collaborative poetry

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“romance of the rose,”a poem in collaboration with bogpan. You can find more of his wonderful poetry on his blog.

the river runs and
washes the shadows from under your eyes
it turns you
into the goddess of roses
now you do not need makeup
lipstick
not even a mask

without them you are magical

i just have to touch you
with the flames of my heart

soft fingers
of the forgotten winds of Levant
will bury us
in magic and roses
the milky color of your skin
our lips in the wind

fragrances of love
bloom in the river

flames of passion #poetry

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flames of passion engulf my body

i walk barefoot in the corridor

Spanish tiles melt under my feet

i dive into the salty ocean

its white spumes catch fire

seagulls cry

palm trees bend

clouds writhe

where are you?

ice my heart

snow my skin

you laugh

your teeth bite my left wrist

your kisses water my neck

spring flowers grow on my skin

my hands explore your face

you rock me in your arms

from a faraway taverna a song spirals around our bodies

we’re both of us beneath our love, we’re both of us above

my fingers touch your lips

I catch fire.

*

do not assume anything

come back to me #poetry

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come back to me my prince from unknown lands

where orange suns flame tops of granite mountains

your pain will disappear into the néant

i’ll read you ancient legends on the beach

in nights when mermaids’ voices crave lost heroes

for you I’ll stop the ebb and flow

i’ll make the sun to set on eastern temples

i will transform my body in a flame

in moonless nights like shooting stars

your hidden passions on my skin will glow

 

come back to savor ripened mango from my hands

when the piano plays nocturnal rhythms of love

when purple jacaranda is in bloom

and fresh hibiscuses sleep on my pillows

we’ll wait in silence for the skies to open

the waves will build an altar on the ocean

gold fish will crown my head like precious diamonds

in ocean’s spumes my body will be dressed

come back to me my prince from fragrant dreamy lands.

Desert Love #Flash Fiction

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He once said: “A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.”

Well, I would like to know what makes a desert a world.

Once one steps in a desert one understands that the only love that can make the desert a world is the love for the desert itself.

*

It’s cold. It rains dry frozen stars.

There is no world without you.

The camel looks at me awkwardly.

*****

Lawrence Durrell, Justine: “A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.

bedroom tales II #poetry

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lay in the bed, my king

the night is deep

narcissi are in bloom

and aromatic wine long went to sleep

enclosed into the amphorae’s hips

cross your hands

under your head

let your liquid soul

meet mine into my estuaries’ dreams

i will make sure

the moon rises in sky

i will anoint your feet

with heavy scented hip rose oil

and like Scheherazade

i’ll spend the night

whisperings tales that have no end

now listen

my eyes are heavy

my love is in humid bloom

and far in the horizon

between the earth and sky

breathes an orange moon.

*

Narcissism is not inspirational. Narcissi are.

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There are no complications in the color of the summer — bogpan – блог за авторска поезия

 

I was delighted to work with bogpan, a fabulous poet, on this piece. The credit goes mostly to him.

“she will pass by me
carelessly
and summer will become better,
hot
with raspberry taste
and salt

maybe she’ll look at me
the color of her eyes
enigmatic….”

To read the entire poem, as well as more of his own poetry, please click on the link below.

collaboration with short-prose-fiction https://shortprose.blog/

via here are no complications in the color of the summer — bogpan – блог за авторска поезия

 

 

 

sacred love #poetry

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among the mystic folds of the ancient night

a sacred empire of love waits for us

you kneel:

“your crown, my queen”

i kneel:

“your spade, my king”

white drapes float in the wind

the eyelashes of a red evening close upon the heated desert

scents of sandalwood linger on my forehead

i grow upon your body

like flowering Spanish moss

upon a tree

under the naked stars

your skin taste myrrh

wild roses crawl on my left arm

a silver cross sleeps on your chest

i touch it with my lips

the ring on your finger tattoos my thighs

sacred love.

*

no inspiration from today’s daily prompt

 

Crux #Flash Fiction as Poetry

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Whirling winds threw the North Star into a bed of roses.

You took it and hung it on my hair.

Polaris.

Guided by the poetry of its thin sacred light your ship navigated into my soul.

My body trapped you into the ethereal crystals of the Nordic sky.

When I woke up the Southern Cross was shedding tears on your pillow.

She was looking for you.

I hung her on my chest, so she could hear the beatings of your heart.

Roses bloomed on my skin.

Crux.

gardens of love #evening fantasy

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The night was black.

The moon was white.

Between the night and the moon, the prismatic membranes of my soul played the cords of a lyre.

Diaphanous tones kissed the air.

The moonlight passed through my soul.

I heard the aromatic pulse of the earth.

I lay on the ground.

Rays of colors played on my shimmering body.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet:

*

my rebellious red blood – contaminated with verses – ran from my heart to yours;

the smell of orange trees bloomed in my hair like in those forgotten Sunday afternoons in which we used to make love;

i saw the eternal pregnant egg yolk – heavy as the promise of a tropical passion night- the imperishable yellow from around your finger

a green iguana blinked and opened its “third eye” inscribing on my thighs the fairy-tales of the women you loved.

a bird gave me the evil eye: children’s fingers colored in blue hung on the Hand of Fatima trying to protect me;

it smelled violets; caressed by languorous leaves i fell in the autumn kiss in which we first met.

*

Moonlight

I turned around.

My naked body touched yours.

Between your skin and mine the sensuality of colors grew aromatic gardens

Gardens of love.

Fathoms of Kisses #Evening Fantasy

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Last night it rained ruby wine on the white roses in my garden

In the dim moonlight a small orange bird told me I cut myself

I looked at my thighs

Translucent chantilly lace silently hugging my skin: slight marks left by your teeth

I looked at my palms

Fathoms of your kisses floating on my fingers: violet water lilies sleeping on hidden emerald lakes

The night was ripped by the gallop of an Arabian horse: the painful beatings of your heart calling for me.

I ran toward you: thorns scratched my skin, dry branches blocked my way

I felt pain

I kept running from one century to another

Smell of scented candles flickered on the heavy silver of the icons

I trapped you in my humid dream like a naked pearl trapped by a shell

We made love in silky sheets of poetry

I could hear the purr of pharaoh’s cat…

What century was that?

Picasso’s Rose #poetry

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you meet me in your dreams

i feed you bread

your lips taste sweet grains

my lips taste ambrosia

around our bodies

silky white sheets

your palms touch roses

my palms touch snow

a door gets slammed

the room is dark

the music stops

the forest cries

you wake up

from inside a frame

i look at you

all silent and all rose

signed

Pablo Picasso

with love enclosed.

anchor me #poetry

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i am a ship lost on the Danube’s blue waters

i navigate your love

dark waves get jealous

laughingly they hit me

i keep moving

ancient myths float above the water

they entangle me

i hurt

my left arm bleeds

save me

your touches drip sweetness from the Milky Way

i hit a rock

your violet passions blow waves

they lift me up

your fingers spread rose oil on my skin

you waltz me on blue waters

the night is young

the spumes are white

the stars are far

another hundred yards

till my body reaches the harbor of your heart

pearls sigh

pull me

anchor me

love me!

on my fragile skin #poetry

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the bed grows fragrant roots

the night flavors mango juices

candles flicker on yearning bodies of fated lovers

centuries pass

drought

riverbeds of dry wrinkles

cockfights

no one writes to the colonel

in a corner

from a cacti’s areola a flower grows

the night whispers rapid drops of rain

“i don’t have a throne, my queen

or somebody that understands me” *

over and over

your voice plays

on my fragile skin

*

“no tengo trono ni reina

ni nadie que me comprenda

Luis Miguel Gallego Basteri, “El Rey

night-time ecstasy #flash fiction

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The lake was hidden in the middle of a secret cherry grove.

For thousand years its face silent; its beauty unknown; its deep desires unspoken.

One night a magic breeze blew above its waters.

The lake and the breeze fell in love.

*

Waves and tongues of air caressed each other

Flames of passion lit a violet sky

Whispers of occult desires made the cherries blush

Bubbles floated in the air

Murmurs of love filled the universe

Fire

The ecstasy from the beginning of the world

*

In the morning the breeze died. The magic lake shed dark tears.  Inside its heart the breeze’s memory gave birth to spellbinding aquatic flowers.

help me #poetry

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my body weak

your love afar

from the abrupt chagrin of the mauvais poète

who put on paper all his ails

when spring sheds tears in the fields

help me to start a novel tale

 

my pulse is weak

your pulse is fast

trade winds are crying in the room

when fresh carnations our pillows stain

and shadows come my blood to drain

tell me the story of the magic dragon

who loved a princess from a fairy tale

and with the noble tones of your deep voice

help me come to life again

cupid’s bow #poetry

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cupid shoots his bow

i hide behind a wall of scented memories

then I run

tens of arrows follow me

i stumble upon the root of a banyan tree

it smells sap and salty air

a Spanish guitar vaguely murmurs

i remember dancing in Santo Domingo

arching my back

moving my hips

i still run

arrows follow me

i can see Granada

i can see Pompei

agonizing pain in my left arm

i fall into a bed of violet azaleas

there is no air between your skin and mine

you bite my lips

your hands press on my thighs

passions burst on my neck

in a million of silky butterflies

i can’t breathe

the die is cast

tomorrow’s salvation

is yesterday’s past

*

astonish

maritime lovers #evening fantasy

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your arm rises from the middle of a colony of orange fish

a Portuguese man o’war stings my arteries

purple venom changes the color of my skin

the ocean holds you back

a red coral hurts my right thigh

my blood attracts sharks

i want to reach you

i dive deeper

phantoms of your love words spread on the surface of my brain

green ivy on a wall of bricks

seahorses show me the way

i see you

you swim with a yellow-edged lyretail

you turn around

your eyes pierce into mine

don’t speak!

if you speak we’ll die!

wait!

*

your “i love you” cuts the ocean in two

silence

avalanches of water fall from the sky

stars shed tears on the forgotten tomb of maritime lovers

why couldn’t you wait?

why?

you smile

your kisses caress my lips

yellow angel fish surround us

humid silent touches

*

notable

steal me #poetry

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steal me at midnight

the jasmine is in bloom

tulips shed their virgin looks

my body craves your unknown touches

wolves are howling at the moons

 

run with me in our cherry grove

make for us a bed from lilac blossoms

make pillows from the scents of violets

with drops of shooting stars paint our tears

woven from a peacock’s feathers coverlets

 

voice your desires like you utter a confession

tell me what you have never told to other women

redeem yourself in my eyes’ lagoons

let my cherry lips caress your wounds

it’s midnight

and wolves are howling at the moons

***

it takes work to transform a cur into a wolf

meet me tonight #poetry

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meet me secretly tonight

on the island of eternal springtime

moonlight shines the pebble beach

poncha craves your humid lips

 

your body warm

my body cold

let’s melt together

in the lava pools

and when transformed

into a single heated glass

in aromatic wine we’ll cool.

 

let’s bite and savor silently tonight

the juicy pulp of passion fruit

like in elaborate temples lost at sea

let’s be one tonight in Madeira

and then from there

let’s forever be.

i need you #poetry

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lightning strikes the forest

screams zigzag in the air

vultures try to scoop my eyes

i fight back

the screams deafen me

bare branches scratch my skin

i grasp for air

a tornado rips my heart apart

my palms push back an angry sky

where are you?

i need you

save me

bestow your love on me!

*

bestow

Barista Favorite: i am your soul/short-prose-fiction — Go Dog Go Café

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I am honored and delighted that my poem “i am your soul” was acknowledged by Go Dog Go Café. For more beautiful poetry please visit Go Dog Go Café.

 

look for me my love

my body shines like lightening

striking down from Mount Olympus

i’m in the tremble of each tear

that poor hungry children shed

i’m the prayer of the lonely

the garden where the virgins blush

the mystic bite of occult ecstasies

i’m hidden in the Sistine Chapel

in haunted graveyards at midnight

i’m bursting from the keys of the piano

which plays alone Beethoven’s  5th

now call for god and breathe me in

for i am your soul.

 

We are pleased to announce the Barista Favorite from March 19th’s Promote Yourself Monday at Go Dog Go Cafe. It is short-prose-fiction’s poem i am your soul. You can read more of short-prose-fiction’s writing at Short Prose look for me my love my body shines like lightening striking down from Mount Olympus i’m in the […]

via Barista Favorite: i am your soul/short-prose-fiction — Go Dog Go Café

Pedro di Santa Fe #evening fantasy

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a sunset dressed in purple royal palm trees

folds of white drapes move like courtesans in a hot humid breeze

an open orchid falls and gently rocks my drink

your poetry stains my soul with red carnations’ ghosts

i dream of you…

*

he moves

somebody calls him Pedro

his eyes two abysses filled with desires

his body flames the tunes of Spanish songs

his passion makes the scented tavern swell

the white drapes cry and fall in love with him

he slowly sips my drink

i want to touch his lips

the ghost of a carnation pulls me back!

you!

your poetry!

i will wait for an eternity…

*

i laugh

i leave

an old song hunts me

Pedro, Pedro, Pedro, Pedro, Pedro, Pe

Bellissima Aventura di Santa Fe

i leave

i laugh

the purple palm trees wave at me.

*

partake

our night of nights #poetry

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i land on your soul

like a butterfly on a tiny flower

the sky rains stars

on wounds dressed in velvet gloves

from the middle of the earth

a blue tree branches

heated arteries overflow with Spanish music

your hands caress my thighs

you’re melting in my kiss

i taste the depths of the forest

it smells ambrosia

cinnamon and anise

a nude by Pellison-Mallet sleeps

your spade flickers

the candle murmurs with delight then goes out

i am one with you

covered by the sheer splendor

of our night of nights.

*

give me one more night!

Mallet

make me immortal #poetry

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sing me the romance of the lovers

who in another century have met

in evening gardens shadowed by purple violets

and rained with pastel painted butterflies

 

i’ll live like Venus in Botticelli’s primavera

touched by a gentle wind born in the west

watching the dance of the three graces

with virgin eyes picked from your sweetest dreams

i’ll spring into an evening late in autumn

like Cleopatra under Caesar’s heavy eyes

coiling my naked body into ropes of fire

until i’ll melt like wax the pride of an empire

i’ll live in your words forever

like Mary Magdalene between two worlds

feeling the darkest desperation

when blood was flowing from His wounds

 

sing me the romance of the lovers

when the first morning washes our sins

make me immortal with your words

when between pearly silky sheets

two fragrant flowers gently dream.

*

genie

 

Astral Mandolins #poetry

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Play in your room the mandolin tonight

Painting the air with aurora borealis’ verses

When arabesque designs awake my soul

The shining sound the time reverses.

 

Play in the streets your mandolin tonight

Into the touching of the cords your love for me

The beatings of my heart choreograph the scenes

Making the aurora australis never flee.

 

When you are done, come to my room

We can unmake the bed, and lie in silence still

Immersed into the sounds of astral mandolins

Watching hermetic lovers dancing the quadrille.

*

song

rain of love #poetry

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i’ll give you vestal virgins who will guard

your deepest mystical desires

i’ll bathe you in the ecstasies of the first sin

and resurrect the shyness of the bridal night

i’ll dress a million skies with new bright stars

to flame the oceans from within

my body now transformed into fresh grains

so you can feed all children from my palms

i’ll order our naked goddess to surrender

to kisses that you dream of in the night

i’ll make red roses bloom on Himalayas

and teach you to collect gold honey from their cliffs

i’ll give you all you craved for in your ancient lives

just come and rain your love on me.

*

no depletion 

spring dream #poetry

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i can’t see you for the spring’s gold light

showers flowers in my eyes

yet I can hear you in the nightingale’s night song

in the cries of Isis by the Nile

somebody plays the violin in the blue room

you toss and turn in my soul

like a flamenco dancer in Seville

your breath lingers on my neck

i stretch my arms to harvest cherries

tongues of fire from your eyes

linger hungrily on my skin

i fall

thorns of blooming roses rip my dress

it smells earth and grass from a forgotten spring

the violin plays now in our purple bedroom

i close my eyes

i breath you in

and i can see you.

Shared Pain #Glass Lovers

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“Shared pain bonds acutely. So, Clara, tell me how acutely shared love bonds?”

Miguel turned his luminescent green eyes toward the Basilica. I did not answer. I thought of Jacques and Miriam and the pain that we all shared.

It felt like some cosmic ritualistic initiation in which the protagonists had their hearts taken out every evening, only to be inserted back into their empty chests early in the morning pumping despair and agony instead of blood.

 

Wasn’t there any salvation?

*

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers.

Minoan Fresco # Glass Lovers

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“Clara, your eyes are burning! Ha! It is precisely this fighting side of you that Miguel loves so much. On the other hand, it is Jacques who loves the soft, dreamy, imaginative part of you. For Jacques, the fables of your mind are as real as the buildings on Saint-Germain-des-Prés!”

 

“Does that mean that I should put them together and make one out of two?”

“Clara, you’re impossible!”

“Ha! That is exactly why we are friends, isn’t it Angelo?”

 

He laughed and turned his head toward the ocean. His black curly hair was in a ponytail. His profile silhouetted against the sky like a Minoan fresco on a palace wall in ancient Crete.

I made a rush toward the ocean.

Angelo and the role he was to play in our lives. How little I knew then.

*******

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers

remember when #poetry

Featured
 

you don’t remember that

some centuries ago

i used to be the feather

which chased the demons out of your soul

the only wind which flamed the fire

that dried your tears shed in lonely nights

the goddess Ceres who fed you

those April mornings when white birds were quiet

and hungry demons haunted you

i was the dance of Shiva swirling around you

in cosmic sheets of deep desires

in nights of passion when old mirrors blushed

and silk was crushed under your steps

don’t cry

just wait in silence

you will remember everything

when harvesting the grains

which soon will blossom in my eyes

when you will touch my lips again.

*

the wind spread its wings thwart the shore

remember when?

know thyself (2) #poetry

Featured
 

know thyself

and you will know

the side the moon

has never shown

sparkling rivers

running through wild forests

sounds of shooting stars

in nights of bloom

the shy tremor

of the marble arches in Verona

when Romeo was serenading Juliet

remember how in other lives

your eyes shed tears

in blue lakes

recall each magic move

your body knew

 

do not betray yourself

and you will know

why i love you!

 

i’m not the first #poetry

Featured
 

tell me that tomorrow we will meet

don’t tell me where

the frantic beating of your heart

under the linden trees

will show the way

like pebbles

in a story written

by the Brothers Grimm

 

in the first night

that we will spend together

tell me we’ll drink ambrosia

and feel immortal

like some Greek gods

carved on the frontispiece

of a forgotten Parthenon

 

when morning comes

kiss me good-bye

and leave

i’m not the first

i’m not the last

who comes into your life

and then becomes the past.

blissful love #poetry

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palm trees bend under the weight of heavy coconuts

an albatross rotates purple clouds above

i run into the warm ocean

its foaming waters recognize my body

dolphins come to me

luscious skin on luscious skin we float

time stops

trade winds do not blow anymore

blissfulness

sunset

*

a nostalgic cry of an ivory seagull changes something

i want to rest against a dolphin’s skin

the dolphin disappears

i am resting against the humid skin of your left shoulder

your arms wrap around my waist

it rains eternal, blissful love

*

micro-cosmos

worlds of fantasies #poetry

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my tropic grows an ocean

spumes drip on my skin

cyclones are my kisses

spiraling your trees

rolling on your touches

like snatched leaves in the wind

galloping your dreams

though worlds of fantasies

where little magic fairies

crave your naked body

under umbrous trees

my hands drag you with me

in a humid sleep

a thousand times deep.

*

foreign

i am your soul #poetry

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look for me my love

my body shines like lightening

striking down from Mount Olympus

i’m in the tremble of each tear

that poor hungry children shed

i’m the prayer of the lonely

the garden where the virgins blush

the mystic bite of occult ecstasies

i’m hidden in the Sistine Chapel

in haunted graveyards at midnight

i’m bursting from the keys of the piano

which plays alone Beethoven’s  5th

now call for god and breathe me in

for i am your soul.

i want your love #poetry

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i want your love tonight in Madeira

to touch my skin and incubate my dreams

in Paul do Mar the hour when the water

metamorphoses boiling in red wine

 

i want to dive with you in subterranean desires

the minute when the breezes unveil me

i want my skin to flare under your kisses

your heart of gold forever to be mine.

Viking virgin #Glass Lovers (excerpt)

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She looked like a Viking virgin: long blond hair, tense body, steely look in her blue eyes.

There was a wild quality of a hunted animal about her.

*

Men were attracted to her, precisely because she was unattainable.

**

Jacques spoke:

“Ah.. how the impossibility of possessing a woman provokes some men, makes their blood boil more than the lascivious glances of an entire harem!”

Miguel said nothing.

*****

Excerpts from the manuscript Glass Lovers 

burning desires #poetry

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let your exquisite words

desperately paint

the noise and dangles of the shining earrings

the latent movement of the luscious thighs

the passions flowing through rich waters

of humid estuary nights.

 

come to me so you can burn

your deep desires in my arms

and let your longings roll and roll

don’t be afraid I am just the mirror

that always will reflect your soul.

The Memory of Flesh #Glass Lovers

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“I want your flesh to keep my memory, and your soul to forget me.”

*

Well, Angelo, crucify me! I said that because I did not believe at the time that flesh has any memory. Now, I do not know what to believe anymore!

***

Every night the wounded blue of his eyes haunts me. At the crack of dawn that splendid voice in which he used to talk to me tolls like morning church bells.

*

Are we going to haunt each other forever?

Are we going to meander in each others’ thoughts eternally?

*****

Excerpts from the manuscript Glass Lovers.

forever at your feet #poetry

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take me out of my ancient prison

during a windy moonless night

suddenly break the wooden door

cut the heavy rusted chains

linked to my flesh

stained by my blood

take me in your arms and run with me

into the morning gardens of your soul

where children play and flowers sing

and I will be forever at your feet

waiting for your love touches to be born.

tango me #poetry

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tango me through wars and tears

until you sew my wounds and crack my lips

until children running in the streets

touch my body with their fears.

 

tango me through narrow hidden alleys

in which eternal lovers passionately kissed

against the coolness of gray walls in summer nights

play with my dreams like children play with kites.

 

tango me into your battered soul

until we feel the pain of ancient knives

teach me the moves of mystic loves

and tango me until the end of life.

*

wonder

flamenco #poetry

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listen to steps of the flamenco

in old Córdoba at sunset

feel the passion of the heated bodies

the beating of long lashes on your skin

sense the desire hidden in red skirts

flowing in the shadows of palacio episcopal

my love, please kneel

into the ardent sound of the guitars

which are announcing the prelude

of our first and only night.

*

For more info (facts) about the flamenco dance click here

rapturous love #flash fiction

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He looked for life in the long, ecstatic nights of our love.

I thought he did not understand that the frenzy of flesh always ends in death; that my body stood between him and heaven.

On the other hand, he argued that my body was his gate to heaven, his branch to eternity.

Ironically, it was the juxtaposing of our thoughts that made love so intense, so rapturous that we could not distinguish anymore between reality and fantasy.

i miss you #poetry

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i miss you

like a little poor child

misses his home destroyed by war

like giant wounded albatrosses

miss their flights above blue oceans

like thirsty Bedouins miss water

like ancient swords miss their masters

like in the days before the resurrection

his followers missed Him

i miss your eyes

i’ve never seen

*

above

adiós #poetry

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the orange sunset when you’ll leave

do not forget to take with you

the boat lost in the vastness of the ocean

in which you kneeled

and swore forever love to me

kisses you painted on my neck

hibiscuses in which you draped my body

the love of Esmeralda for Phoebus

gnostic prayers murmured hugging me

the moment that you leave

don’t say adiós mi amor

for I know well the next sunset

you will return to me

now if you don’t mind, my love

please slowly close the door.

purple love #flash fiction

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His dreams blossomed inside me like jacaranda trees in April.

His exquisite poems – written in purple ink – adorned my skin.

In the dim moonlight lying in bed – all scented in lavender – I ruminate.

A great poet once said: “Extract the eternal from the ephemeral.”

While reading his poems I tried to do just that.

Between lines I found only one thing: love.

*

Charles Baudelaire: “Extract the eternal from the ephemeral.” 

 

Chimera #Glass Lovers

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At that time, I began to understand how much Miriam suffered. I thought that the only thing I could do was to take myself out of any encounter with Jacques. And so, I did.

*

Looking back, that was the first mistake I made. I forced Jacques to transport me from the realm of the real into the realm of his imagination.

With my whole being out of his sight, I freed him to fall in love with me. More precisely to fall in love with a chimera resembling me; a chimera born from the richness and depths of his soul. I became his dream woman, precisely because I was not his woman.

*

I remember Angelo’s words, one warm autumn evening while we were walking through Place du Tertre watching the work of amateurish artists:

“My dear Clara, your cloistered behavior is ridiculous. It’s not helping at all.”

 

I retrospect I wish I would have listened to him.

*

Well, but later Miguel would say:

“Jacques fell in love with you the moment he saw you, Clara. Remember his words that winter evening…”

*

I remember the words that Jacques uttered that winter evening when we first met him. I always will.

I had a premonition

*

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers 

imaginations #flash fiction

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We became one when our imaginations like rays of light intersected; when we left our bodies craving for each other – like deserts for rain –  behind.

Empires fall. Walls collapse.

Our union will live forever.

Do you see the distinction between spirituality and temporality?

*

imagination

tattooed love #poetry

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on my right arm

tattoo your love

insert the pigment of the legends

under my skin

battered by oceans

color my arm

in scents of red

snatched from Pompei

when the sun sets

insert my soul

with violent gusts of pain

that Lancelot once felt for Guinevere

so, every night I cross myself

i’ll put that love and pain

into the hands of my own god

and then i’ll sleep.

*

constant

OpenLinkNight #214

encrusted

link 

fated loves #poetry

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remain with me tonight

when books surrender

their wisdom to the deepest sleep

i want your palms to feel

the purple of the jacaranda in the room

i want your eyes to carve again

old mysteries on naked shoulders

on your white shirt

now laying at my feet

i want you to rewrite in red

the Celtic ancient root

of fated loves

like that of Tristan and Isolde

love without compromise.

Fires of the Mind #Flash Fiction

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First, one’s mind catered to the other.

*

Then they started praying upon each other’s art: one’s imagination crawling on and playing with the other’s like two lion cubs frolicking on Africa’s grasslands.

*

By the time physical love came into play they were already burning like two pieces of glass in a Murano furnace.

It would have been much easier if they would have kept their art separate. Yet they did not.

you are the only kiss #poetry

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do not disturb the hidden shadows

which costume the corners of my room

let them sleep in deep lavender scents

do no weaken them from centuries old dreams

and do not ask forgotten loves

how did they passionately used to kiss

 

deep in the orange silence of my room

into the mist of butterflies which crown my hair

touch me with a dream I’ve never dreamed

for you are the only kiss

which preys upon my mind

and not my lips.

*

costume

romance of pain #poetry

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i’ll give you the romance

of the first kiss

the sound of mandolins

on ardent nights of love

the mysteries of shadows

in the autumn streets

the heaviness of purple fruits

from morning gardens filled with sun

i’ll give you everything

just let me bathe in your deep pain

for i can’t take mine anymore.

forever love #poetry

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my love, receive my spade and take my cross

my heart will always be with you

i’m going to the realm of the unknown

remember me from time to time

on torrid nights

when conjured Spanish fountains

softly moan in pain.

 

my love for you will shine in every star

and it will be in every cloud you see

now time has come to swear to me

my beauty from the lands i’ve never known

that you’ll remember:

stars are far

leopards are by you.

***

conjure

Greek Chorus #collaborative poetry

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a voice says

to begin again

another voice says

there is no beginning

caught between

the two insistent voices

the Greek chorus stops.

 

into the purple autumn

of your heart

i cry

i wait

for the Greek chorus

to murmur

something must end

then I will

love you forever.

*****

Thank you to Grabbety Covens, (Surviving the Struggle to Success), for leading this instance of collaborative poetry.

Please find more poems written by other authors here

insist 

Destinies # Glass Lovers

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Our destinies caught into the deep lines of my left palm.

*

With my right index finger, I trace those lines again and again, until I cannot breathe anymore, until my left palm bleeds.

*

None of us can be judged outside endless flights between continents, outside of our profuse tears and of our love for art, outside of the slippery slope that runs from amitié amoureuse to deep impassioned love.

*

One day all of us will have to understand that the past should stay in the past. That day is inscribed in my left palm together with our pain, and our tendencies toward the kind of love that transcends any earthly boundaries.

******

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers 

tend

Battlefield #Glass Lovers (excerpt)

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I can still hear that deep voice of his and see his striking profile against the walls of the Chartres Cathedral: tormented French Gothic autumn; agonizing blue eyes; gelid rain lingering on stained glass, trickling on my face like liquid wax at the feet of saints.

*

“Clara, please! This needs to stop!”

We have judged ourselves so many times that the space around us metamorphosed into a battlefield packed with carrion birds.

We became Don Quixotesque characters battling windmills.”

*

Oh, how well I understood Jacques! Yet, he could not understand that no matter what I was going to say or do, Miguel would not give up. The verb “to give up” was not part of Miguel’s vocabulary.

Miguel was not General Santa Anna who lost the Battle of San Jacinto. Miguel was Cortés who conquered an empire; Cortés who enrolled god to help him; Cortés who destroyed the Aztec temples and raised the flag of Christianity.

Jacques had no chance.

*

Now, when I look back, alone in the mist of those haunting memories, my eyes lids heavy, my hands trembling, my lips cracked by fever, Angelo was right when he said:

“Wait, Clara, wait, you do not know Jacques yet.”

Oh, how right he was! In fact, none of us knew Jacques.  Not even Angelo.

****

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers.

enroll

The Other Man’s Woman #Glass Lovers (excerpt)

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“Clara, Jacques is in love with you!”

At 4 am in the morning calling from Bruges Miguel was beyond angry when he spoke.

*

“The entire evening Jacques talked only about you!  It was like Miriam and I were not even there!

Clara, do you have an inkling how it feels to listen to another man, describing for hours the women that you love? Your dress, the violet one made from taffeta, your estate diamond ring, the way you turn your head, the flares of your eyes, even your knees a bit closer than they should be when you walk, the fullness …”

*

I did not listen anymore. A pale moon was shedding its poisonous light on our bed; ghosts of Miguel and I making love still buried in the warmth of the peachy sheets.

*

I walked to the wardrobe. I took out my taffeta violet dress.  I started cutting it furiously: bit by bit, piece by piece.  From each piece the perfume that Jacques bought me for my birthday was permeating my lungs, crawling on my skin, poisoning my eyes.

Why did it happen? Why?

**********

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers 

i wish #poetry

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i wish

i had the talent of the poet

who once wrote

Calm down, my Sorrow,

We must move with care.

instead

I’ll have the shadow

of the autumn

when you’ll

leave

like a seagull

heaving upward

an aching

lonely

choking call.

 

prompt: inscrutable

*

“Calm down, my Sorrow, We must move with care.”, Charles Baudelaire, Meditation

Painting: Paul Delaroche, The Young Martyr

Rain-forest Dreams #Glass Lovers

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Aroma of cherry cigars permeates the room.

*

Miguel’s tensed body lies against the bedroom door; his eyes closed; his jaw taut; perspiration trickling on his golden skin.

*

I continue reading Jacques’ candid letter:

“Clara, I saw you through the window of my soul. I cracked the window to inhale you from afar; to get drunk in your freesia scented hair. Just for a moment.  A whirling wind blew in intoxicating scents of the rain-forest: palms filled with sweet red berries, enormous wimba trees fogged in ancient legends, raindrops of violet orchids; anacondas coiling on the soil. I choked. I couldn’t help it, Clara!”

*

I stop. Grief.

Miguel’s eyes open; forgotten green clouds and thunder foment inside.

I walk toward him. Slowly I start unbuttoning his shirt.  My lips touch his humid skin. He does not move. His breath accelerates, his eyes stare into nowhere. Filled with pain, his voice resonates inside me.

“I love you.”

***************

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers

  • wimba trees are among the tallest tress in the Amazon Rain-forest.

i am love #poetry

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i am the soul

of the unknown

the one

who locked the mystery

of number Pi

within your heart

the one

whose life

was saved

from stoning by

his words

the Desdemona

that Othello couldn’t kill

the Guinevere that Lancelot

had loved

i am the agile hands

that you allow

to spread

Moroccan oil

onto your skin

in moonless nights

for

i am love.

Agonizing Nights #Glass Lovers

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A whole week.

Seven agonizing nights; seven suffocating nights rushing over me, parching my soul with their torrid breezes.

Myriads of mosquitoes murmuring in the dark, looking for prey: my own flesh, my own blood.

Nights extending their heavy tentacles over the city, strangling it as a venomous octopus; abandoning it at sunrise lacking vigor, emptied of hopes, filled with trash.

*

I am getting out of bed. Lace and silk soaked in perspiration, glued to my heated body. I am looking out of the window.  I cannot see you.

*

In this city clocks have no hands, years have no months, months have no days.  Outside of time, the city is innocent, perverse, philosophical, suicidal. You will have to find a loophole to live here without surrendering your soul.

*

Shadows of your eyes; fragments of your voice hidden inside me. I cannot see you. It’s dark.

*******

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers 

ropes of destiny #poetry

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you’re looking to the vial

i’m looking to the dagger

neither of us worthy of

the redemption of Verona’s lovers

the die is cast

vain efforts to escape each other

end nowhere

love

erotic pollen

settles between our skins

it rips my heart apart

it makes your heart bit faster

ropes of destiny

tie us

forever.

Prompt: static

occult

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My liquid shoulders touched by wings of Laysan albatrosses shiver.

The Hawaiian chest delights in the occult aroma of the volcano goddess.

My desirous, pregnant soul in(vokes) my ancestors.

Your eyes are lusting with Dionysian ecstasy.

No, don’t touch me now, my prince, for you’ll be cursed forever to yearn for me in the world of your immortal dreams!

*

Daily prompt evoke

Tahitian Nights #Poetry

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i can see things

without my eyes

in the gap between your soul and mine

i can see a dark violet birth

of a golden yolk

your body moves toward mine

the silky sheets ignite

your eyes above crave heaven

my eyes below speak earth

your head rests on my shoulder

i can feel red colors

inscribing roses into earth

my body undulates

into Tahitian nights

rhythms of your guitar.

*

for you – whose mirific words inspire me

 

love letters #poetry

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I am looking over your love letters

my hands are shaking

winds are trying

to take them away from me

bury them

into the depths of the roiling ocean

 

i am fighting the winds

i am back with you in that place

palm trees born from violet skies

white drapes covering adrenalized lovers

i am laughing

follies of love

your teeth leave painful marks

on my shoulder

 

winds funnelled through my heart

push me into the ocean

salty waters corrode my nostrils

stingrays puncture my arteries

a church bell tolls

your letters

where are they?

 

Creation (Un mundo nuevo) #Glass Lovers #manuscript

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There were no moon, no stars, no scented roses.

Just rough landscape: red mountains rising straight from the desert, fragmenting a blue tired sky.

Cacti.

Wind drying our bodies, sand glued on our skins.

Oh, but all those things were no going to stop Miguel!

He was determined to defy the impossible.

His rich laughter crashed into the mounting stone; his green eyes pierced into mine; his teeth bit into my lips.

My nails pressed deeply into his back.

His Maria de Guadalupe medallion flickered before my eyes.

*

Un mundo nuevo was about to bloom inside me.

Miguel’s new serrated moons, new ardent stars, new mystical scented roses stood ready to welcome it.

Viable

*******

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers. 

Photo Credit: Pixabay.

 

self-sacrifice #excerpt from glass lovers #manuscript

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The great poet was expelled from Florence.

Miguel expelled himself from himself to make room for me.

Self-sacrifice. No reservation.

I melted into his being like an enormous orange sun into dark, desert sands.

Neither of us saw the eight bad omens of the conquest.

Our bodies were flaming mightily in the Aztec sky.

*

That inky night the fire of our flesh destroyed the temple of Huitzilopochtli.

What have we done?

*****

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers 

 

Mental Bonds #Glass Lovers

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Winter night tormented by hauling winds. Lying in bed, mulling over our conversation, I could hear that beautiful raspy voice of his:

“I have seen so much in my life: indescribable humiliations; deep scars on burned souls; dreams crushed like broken glass reverberating on empty floors.

We desperately want to love, to possess each other, caught in a perpetual rush to justify our existence.

Yet, there is no love that can fully satisfy us.  The passions of the flesh get exhausted in bed. What is left is exhausted by our imagination.

Love does not bind forever. Mental bonds do.”

Memories of a silky African violet nightgown modeling my flesh. Oh, where are you? Where are you now?

*

Miguel hit the door of the bedroom with his boot. His metallic shirt buttons were shining in the moonlight. He was fuming. I could feel the heat of his body. I froze.

*****

From the manuscript Glass Lovers

languor of love

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White drapes undulating in the calm ocean breeze.

Clocks dripping languor.

My wet hair blossoming with orange smell.

Unknown mysteries of the warm ocean exuding from your salty skin.

Your teeth moving slowly, engraving Moorish patterns on my thighs.

Teardrops of abandoned occult passions scenting the air.

Those Sunday afternoons never born, never allowed to die.

Blue, white, green. Almost. 

Love Battles #Glass Lovers

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Rage darkened Miguel’s green eyes; his blood was boiling; bible in one hand, sword in the other, breathing heavily, determined not to let his Spanish Armada be sunk the second time.

Ha! And by whom? By a Frenchman?!

Wasn’t Jacques supposed to spend his entire life just alluring the other sex?

Oh, how wrong all of us were to judge Jacques like that!

And how dearly we were to pay for that facile, juvenile judgement of ours.

Steely blue eyes, coat of arms engraved on his shield, Jacques was relentlessly fighting to conquer only one heart; the heart of the woman who Miguel loved.

*

Both of them reduced me to a war trophy.

In the cozy, beautifully tiled hacienda, darkness broke loose.

*****

From the manuscript Glass Lovers

Sin

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Miguel was there with me almost every day caressing my perfumed body, drinking every nuance of my spoken words, breathing in my abysmal silences.

I was his Mexico. He was my version of a mirific conquistador: magnificent green eyes, blood pulsating in his temples, bible in one hand, roses in the other.

We both knew that something much stronger than sexual attraction, or even love was growing between us. Yet we could not put a name on it.

Miguel had a proclivity for self-sacrifice.  He was the first to ask for redemption, before he even knew for which sin he was supposed to be forgiven.

Alas, I should have asked too.

*************

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers   

love’s pain

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Memories of a humid summer, dripping with love, when you finished your book.

In the night red wax is trickling over a torn page that says, “for you- whose love fills my life with joy and makes all things possible.”

My arms ache trying to pull you back from a memory abyss filled with pain.

Can I still make all things possible?

The walls stay silent.

torn

solitude #poetry

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my taffeta dress falling

on the floor

staining the carpet

with the violets of beach pea.

 

your kisses morphing

on my neck

into the loneliness

of sand castles lost to sea.

 

the shining mirror now reflecting

a golden painting of a nude

Márquez is finishing in silence

his hundred years filled with solitude.

*

reference to Gabriel García Márquez’s work One Hundred Years of Solitude

 

inheritance: don’t cast the stone

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oh, don’t cast the stone

my dear reader

before you understand

what kind of love is hidden

into the ripping of the shirt

at midnight

when ancient rituals

are blessing

the meeting of the minds.

 

don’t cast the stone

my dear reader

until you know thyself

and step

into the wisdom of all ages

coming to know

mermaids from prophets

and courtesans from

Dante’s Beatrice.

 

and even then

don’t cast the stone

for you are not

without sin.

 

daily prompt: inheritance 

write me love letters

Featured
 

Write me love letters

Don Quixote is still standing in Madrid

Fighting windmills perpetually caught

In his imagination’s grid.

 

Like Dante using iambic pentameters

Write me the pain ripping your heart

Write me an epic like Homer

Armor my soul with magic art.

 

And build for me a citadel of love

Its walls the crystal of my tears

Its altar’s candles luminating

The path for lovers of all years.

 

Trap me! – Published in Vita Brevis

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Please, trap me in the rhythms of the Flamenco

Whose sounds invade the nights of Southern Spain

To breathe the notes of the guitars which play,

And, fill the lustrous eyes with burning pain.

 

And trap me in the Florence of my dreams

To walk with Leonardo in its streets,

To verse in Greek, and cry with the Madonna

When the last word of Christ forever speaks.

 

Continue reading here

 

Into the winter of your soul

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No murmurs of the mandolins tonight

Sensual caresses caught in tears

Snow flowing under lonely sheets

Heavy steps of musketeers.

 

The age of fable is now past

Dice shivering in Eros’ palms

Into the winter of your soul

A double of Dumas is reading

From a lonely book of psalms.

 

for the daily prompt: age

* reference to Thomas Bulfinch’s work The Age of Fable

our love reflection in the glass

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Erotic butterflies

Punctuating your imagination

Half-moons deep hidden

In your metaphors

Roses dressed in carnal visions

Winter winds designing ores.

 

Amalgamations of semantics

Zephyr is blowing from the west

Cascades of pain are falling from the ceiling

White plants encroaching on my breasts

Love whispers on my lips are reeling.

 

Archaic veils are undulating

Within the sparkling times that passed

The hands of clocks are moving backwards

Remain

And let’s enthrall the mappemonde

With our love reflection in the glass.

 

daily prompt sparkle

Bedroom Tales – Published in Vita Brevis

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Come, red carnations stain the sheets
And candles flicker in the heavy silver
Red wine is breathing in the crystal glasses
Fine lace is flowing in the alcoves like a river.

Come, watch the shadows playing on the wall
When aromatic air is resting on the pillows
The Siamese is purring in her basket
And bowls are filled with reddish tamarillo.

Read the entire poem here

Venetian Kiss

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Let’s kiss into the shadows of the Pala D’Oro

Full moons are bathing Venice into gold

The door of the Basilica was opened

The tale of the Byzantine’s refinement told.

 

Let’s kiss into the sound of Adriatic waters

And ride Venetian horses built in stone

Let’s change the end of Thomas Mann’s novella

Erasing Death in Venice with our kiss’ cyclone.

 

Let our kisses be transformed in sparkling chandeliers

Made of Murano glass suspended on the ceilings

Of all the souls who cried in Venice

Unknown, rejected, wounded in their feelings.

*

Most of you will recognize the work of Gustav Klimt: “The Kiss”. However, the image here is a picture of a copy of his painting made entirely of Murano glass on the Island of Murano, Venice.

tropical love

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The tropic dangling its shiny earnings

During its febrile summer nights

You opening the windows of the bedroom

Inviting in its luscious thighs.

 

Trade winds are playing the piano

Hibiscuses are rushing in the bed

Your hands are looking for my body

Clad in the moons’ prodigious red.

 

The mattress under us grows fragranced roots

Vivid hibiscuses entangle in my hair

Green ocean waters rushing from above

Caught in tropic’s thunderstorm of love.

 

betray me

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Betray me the night Delilah

Cut in silence Samson’s hair

So I will understand that venom

Can dress itself into seraphic veils.

 

Betray me the day that Brutus

Betrayed Caesar by the door

So I will understand that darkness

Mostly walks on marble floors.

 

Betray me on Mount of Olives

The horrid night when Judas betrayed him

So I can bloom into the Sunday morning

Witnessing a beatific era now aborning.

 

Then let me bathe into the new apotheotic world

And understand the pain of those misunderstood

My hands forever diamonding your painful souls

With faithful kisses carved from scented wood.

 

Versing Together

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Remain,

And verse for me tonight

The mystery of the Kabbalah

The long forgotten gnostic knowledge

Sung in the evening by cicala.

 

Remain,

I’ll verse for you tonight

On Mozart’s splendid magic flute

The scents of violets in the dusk

And the encoded mystic fruit.

 

Remain,

Let’s verse together in aromas

Of candles craving to ascend

Ulysses’ s allegorical return

But you know what?

Let’s rush the end.

 

Astral Mandolins

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Play in your room the mandolin tonight

Painting the air with aurora borealis’ verses

When arabesque designs awake my soul

The shining sound the time reverses.

 

Play in the streets your mandolin tonight

Into the touching of the cords your love for me

The beatings of my heart will choreograph the scenes

Making the aurora australis never flee.

 

When you are done, come to my room

We can unmake the bed, and lie in silence still

Immersed into the sounds of astral mandolins

Watching hermetic lovers dancing the quadrille.

 

Midnight Prayer

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Give me the power to endure

The wind that’s blowing from the oceans

Its colors mixing earth and sky

With magical, erotic potions.

 

Give me the power to surrender

To violent, burning rain of kisses

Under forgotten constellations

To understand what your soul misses.

 

finally now when I’m leaving,

 

Give me the power to survive

The pain of Mary Magdalene

In the three days of agony

Before the playing of last scene.

 

the memory of you #poetry

 

the memory of you awakes the moon

seahorses gallop in the ocean

algae wrap around my body

the Mount of Olives weeps

and moves

the room is quiet like a tomb

 

the smell of jacarandas looks for you

among the pages of an ancient book

the night is spinning its black fume

a shadow dances

on the wall

the room is quiet like a tomb

mystic wedding #poetry

 

we were getting married at midnight

waves were washing our naked feet

your face was shaved, my hair smelled almonds

you cried

and tears covered my veiled lips

 

your old grandmother’s cross was nesting on my breast

songs of nightingales resounded in the honeyed water

new pearls were braided on my dress

kisses flowed

and borrowed lace adorned my hips

 

your hands looked for my garter…

 

i woke up…

we were just the poor strangers

who got married and then drank

the scented wine

at the mystic wedding

in the eternal Cana Galilee*

 

the moon rose from the sea…

 

*Cana of Galilee