It was a sort of dematerialization that left behind the scent of orange blossoms and the vague memory of sultry afternoons growing by the margins of the pond: those afternoons in need for seed germination. I am sure you can remember them.
You and your love for me which have always looked for my blood. I told you I am air and therefore I do not have a body. I fill the space in which other bodies manifest themselves.
I am every breath you take in your nights of love when you think you love other women. Have you ever noticed how blue and humid is the air you breathe between two kisses? That’s me.
Oh, I agree. Sometimes I may look like plum lips and other times like tiny specs of red wine sprinkled on your shirt. Those are the times when the moon is full, and the cicadas’ wings listen to the vibrations coming from the membrane of their own abdomens.
It’s summer: pink roses, fresh lips, quiet balconies.
May I have my black nightgown back? I want to feel its silkiness against my skin.
Oh, you are right.
I do not need it. I do not have a body.
Is it my imagination or your breath just got heavier?
excerpt from my book in progress: Remembrance of Love [working title]
My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, is available on Amazon here.
The following is an excerpt from a review of Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings written by Fabian Bats. I do not know him. His review is voluntary. Fabian’s words brought tears in my eyes. I am humbled and deeply honored by his review. His efforts to understand the semiotic of my poetry brought me to my knees.
“The first poem is my favorite in the book; it took a few re-reads to grasp, but when I did, I instantly thought to myself “Genius!”
After my first read, I had no clue what I had just read, “what is the link between the title and the poem?”, I thought, racking my head and moving on to the next poem, hoping for less murky waters to swim in -at the start of the book, it is humorous, I know. However, when I came back to read it again, and started seeing links, I felt butterflies, I marveled at the beauty of the words chosen and how a particular figure of speech was used here or there, and when the stars aligned in my mind, I saw clearly that the author was referring to the night of a honeymoon (it could mean a host of other things to other readers, simply because poetry is art). From this point onward, it was difficult to put the book down.”
You can read the entire review here
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)