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.
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.
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.
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.