passions #poetry

i seek you

like roots seek water

the thirst which blasts into the rhythms of castanets

in Andalusia of the flamenco dancers dressed in red

i see you

the face of the lost stranger

dissimulating grief in autumn shadows

killed by the aurora borealis in the southern hemisphere

i feel you

dreams of wild young tigers

ravaging the flesh of prey with their teeth

in the Sahara of my burning suns the fate plays games

i chase you

blue hands of nightly ghosts insinuate onto my skin

i’m dragging you into the lands of spells which crawl

passions strike till all is left from us

are ashes in a bowl

*

draft

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Lack of Boundaries # Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers (66 words)

Jacques, Miriam, Miguel, and I: What can I say?

As time passed we became like tropical lianas hanging on a giant tree. We used to think that it was the tree of friendship and love.

*

Once Jacques said:

“It is nonchalance that destroys love and friendship.”

To which Miguel replied:

“No, it is the lack of boundaries.”

Time was going to prove him right.

 

*draft

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image: KireevArt/Shutterstock

 

 

find me #poetry

find me

inside the majesty of time

among the gestures of demoted lovers

winds are pushing boats to shore

letters written now by others…

into the lacy folds which your hands touch

kisses fall on golden strips

the sensuality of swans which float on lakes

yours lips playing from old scripts

 

find me

inside the hearts of sailors who will not return

among the brides left lonely at the altars

Mount Everest is gathering its clouds

twilights sink into red moons

choirs sing on lively tunes

 

find me

in the letters of your name

scents of tangerines perfume my hair

my body speaks of silk and cries

for centuries have passed

since I have seen

your darling eyes

 

*draft

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image: nodff/Shutterstock

 

in the between of yesterday and of tomorrow #poetry

on my skin

the saps of lonely moons are flowing

your kisses turn and toss into the wind

my silky dress is ruffled on the bed

my stockings sigh in your wild dreams

 

the lovers of Verona are a myth

a flower fantasizes in my hair

in green the trees design the sky

and lassitude is hanging on the leaves

 

in the between

of yesterday and of tomorrow

the tempo of your kisses slows

in red your blood colors my veins

somewhere under this world of ours

we’ve learned the secret trapped

in earthen grains

 

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image: nodff/Shutterstock 

 

forever green #poetry

i hide kisses in my hair

gather touches in my heart

oceans linger on my body

mirrors drift into my dreams

in the night of eucalyptus

autumns in cold violet preen

 

i arch my body in your arms

my fingers brake sonatas’ spleen

in the anarchy of flesh

your eyes spark

forever green

 

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image: PinkCat/Shutterstock

 

The Chronicle of a Disaster Foretold #Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers

“Stop it, Angelo, stop it! What did you want me to do?

Wrap myself in the in French flag and sing La Marseillaise?

Write a book called “The Chronicle of a Disaster Foretold” and let the entire world know that Jacques was going to fall in love with me?

I am telling you that no matter what things would have happened the way they happened!”

I was enraged: my lips cracked, my body tensed, my dress pinching my skin like I was attacked by an army of red ants.

*

Miguel entered the room.

For a moment his green eyes reflected incredulity. He looked at Angelo, eyebrows raised, his left index finger pointing toward me.

“Why is Clara standing on the middle of the table?”

Ah, Miguel and that dreamy quality of his voice always bringing back our non-ending nights of love.

Angelo tried to put a rebel lock of his black curly hair back in his ponytail.

I did not move. Miguel did not take his eyes from him.

I do not know how much time we stood like this.

Finally, Angelo spoke: his voice raspy like he was awakened from a dream.

“Oh, Clara? Clara is just being Clara.”

*

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers.

Draft

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