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.”
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
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?
i’m laying on the sofa in your room
Renaissance riches flare the air
brushes dripping colors wait
like Titian with your right hand
stroke golden lights onto my skin
color my hair in reddish glares
while silently i watch the vapors
astral albatrosses leave
over the ocean carved in spumes.
life has become the sharpest of blades
cutting deeper and deeper into my flesh
yet it did not reach my fathomless desires
at the core of my being
on a white marble sarcophagus
red roses still bloom.
sleep my love
immersed in scents of reddish fruits
caressed by tears of sibyls
imprisoned by the ocean’s
dream of legends
of old loves
centuries are passing by
sleep don’t worry
i’ll make sure
there is no space or time
between your soul and mine.
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.
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.
your hands toll church bells in the sky
the earth becomes a watery altar
night birds chant gently like a choir
my burning body is the only candle
which flames into the scented darkness
deep in the sanctity of night
i kneel in front of love
I murmur prayers.
when mangoes wait to ripen in darkness
and birds sleep quietly in their nests
i’ll fall into the waters of your dreams
wet silk will shiver on my body
i’ll wait for you in silence
to bring me in the morning
the glass slipper
dressed in roses.