fears of death #poem #poetry

Featured

fears of death
strangled in the heat of our palms
our bodies scratched by silver bracelets
glide onto passion’s desperation curve
go beyond the locus of the flesh
kill our caricatures which people call reality
light ferocious fires on the altar of the gods
in rituals we burn to ashes our fears
dry into the smell of lilac
our tears

ah, i forgot to tell you when i meet you in my dreams
Arabella still sells bracelets in the silver market
she asks me every time about you
while lizards run their greens into the nearby parkette
i lie and promise her you’ll come next time
to buy another bracelet and some juicy limes

now in the silence of long purple nights
the silver bracelets do not hurt my flesh at all
but every minute you are not with me
cuts yet another wound
into my soul

@short-prose-fiction

imagine: Zolotatevs; Shutterstock; [link]

 

mystic wedding #poem #poetry

Featured

we got married at midnight
waves washed our naked feet
your face was shaved, my hair smelled almonds
you cried
and tears covered my veiled lips

your 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

leaves rustled in a tree
the water turned to wine
the moon rose from the sea
like at the mystic wedding
in Cana of Galilee

@short-prose-fiction 

 

the dark flag of pain #poem #poetry

Featured

i open doors which you can’t see
under my father’s heavy eyelids
tenderness gets harder every day
i ache and cry
inside the same sunset in which you left
the smell of morphine saturates my skin
in Campo de’ Fiori people still sell grapes
some still believe the Freudian nonsense about sex
gale winds blow the dark flag of pain
a lonely boat sits anchored in the bay
my soul is scattered in the west
my tears form a phase which reads
tomorrow is already yesterday

@short-prose-fiction

imagine: nodff: Shutterstock; [link]

 

until the end of my life and beyond #short prose #flash fiction

Featured

“I, Miguel Julian Veracruz, take you to be my wife until the end of my life and beyond. I swear on the true cross of my ancestors who endured famine, who fought hurricanes, who sailed their ships through darkness and light into the vastness of the ocean, bible in one hand and sword in the other, to love you until the end of all worlds. My ancestors killed. May my love for you wash the blood from their hands. My ancestors burned down temples. May the fire of my love for you redeem them. May […]

Say yes, Clara, say yes, please!”

Miguel’s words cut the sky in two. The green of his eyes looked exactly like that of his Maria de Guadalupe medallion which he never took off. That beautiful silver Spanish ring, a family heirloom, worn by his mother on the fourth finger of her right hand, appeared on his palm out of nowhere.
*
Lightning struck the waters. A whirlpool of colors flamed the boat; the air was spinning around me like a tornado let lose over the face of the earth. My breathing stopped.  I thought I was imagining everything.
*
Jacques asked in that deep, unmistakable voice of his.

“Where were you Clara?”

“In Miguel’s boat on the waters of the Atlantic. In the beginning it looked like an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Miguel ordered the boat out.  I thought it was odd that he was not sailing it. He hired a captain whose wife cooked dinner, set the table, and brought a bunch of papers for us.  I did not know what they were.”

“What did you say, Clara?”

Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers” (draft)
@short-prose-fiction

imagine: Sofi photo; Shutterstock; [link]

 

amour (love) #poem #poetry

Featured

amour
your secret hides inside my name
inside the splendor of the night in which you didn’t say a word
feathers of macaw birds trace music sheets
the rays of sun stretch on the pebble beach
a fragrant song delights itself on my red lips
i rest my head on your left shoulder
into the lands of spices waiting to be born
we fall
some carnal dreams howl on the corridor
who cares?
i locked the door!
this morning we can die
we won’t tell a soul
and never ask for more
amour

@short-prose-fiction


imagine: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock [link]