i hang flowers in the trees
i grow hands to heal all wounds
at my feet the forest sings
naked love from Saturn’s rings
rains on poppies in the fields
i move forward
and i mix
boiling teas with saps of passion
i coil laurels on your body
I knit kisses on your lips
fruits are bursting into blood
winds are choked by mounds of pyre
you’re not here
i can’t win
for the rifle will still fire
the destiny that calls me
will have to wait tonight
for i am hunting Judas
and i am hunting Brutus
blood boils in my veins
i’m sharpening my arrows
i strangulate the time
i coil around your body
i’m pregnant with desires
the Mount of Olives cries
my hands are fighting lions
the mystery of me
is bursting into fires
listen to the horses gallop in the water
on the edge of autumn
axes of blue passion
intersect your laughter
chestnuts crack the time
heaving their fruits
bake my lips with love
born from sounds of flutes
first published in The Literati Mafia
I awake under the cap of a mushroom.
Its spores surround me like stalactites hanging from the ceiling of a cave.
Rubbing his forewings, a cricket chirps.
Is that you calling for me?
I know it’s you. You must be hiding in the grass!
Every evening I’ll bathe your body in milk and honey.
Every morning I’ll dress you in a cloak woven from mulberry silk. I’ll grow wings around your ankles, so you can fly above the Himalayas.
Late night I’ll rub ginger oil onto your skin; every stalactite will fall in love with you.
At midnight when the Siamese purrs on my left thigh, I’ll dip my fingers into rose oil and mend your wounds.
We’ll kiss in the fragrance of leaves, roots, and ripened berries.
Why aren’t you answering?
Where are you hiding?
my eyes are water wells
mirroring your body
into a time which shrinks
my lips shine on stained glass
windows to the sea
a virgin violin
faints into your lap
sick with jealousy
the summer hangs in trees
Tears from the ankle of an iceberg fell on my body.
They crust on my skin like cold wax on a rack of votive candles.
Seconds hurt like lonely Sundays.
I lie in bed.
A canopy of wild roses scents the air.
My dreams burn like your body used to burn in our nights of love.
I feel you.
The pupils of my eyes dilate under the gravity of time.
Mercury and Venus turn the wheels of love.
Crusts of wax melt on the silky sheets.
Your kisses bloom violet waterlilies on my skin.
I taste figs and wild forest.
The wing of an egret covers us.
The room moves on another parallel.
Is it morning?
Is it Sunday?
Where are you?
My poem “Untranslated Love” published in Vita Brevis
give me the stars
that shine under the bridges
where poor children spend their nights
the blood that leaks from wounds of war
when the last piece of bread is turned in tar
give me the language of your alabaster gestures
the guilty passion of Tristan for Queen Isolde
the mystery of painted nudes on walls
the cries of nuns under an angel’s lacerated wing
your untranslated love coiled in a tarnished ring
Submitted by short-prose-fiction give me the stars that shine under the bridges where poor children spend their nights the blood that leaks from wounds of war when the last piece of bread is turned in tar give me the language of your alabaster gestures the guilty passion of Tristan for Queen Isolde the mystery […]
via Untranslated Love — Vita Brevis
come and watch the dance of Isabella
the rhythm of castanets awakes the moon
her body tilts the oleander axis of the wind
her hips rotate into the autumn of the fires
an iguana stumbles on profuse desires
opening her eyes on Isabella’s chest
your forehead sinks into the sweat of lovers
who step onto the boats which never will return
watch how Isabella dances
wreaths of conquerors at her feet gleam
lizards from forgotten winters
tattoo her body on your skin
and in the shadows of the lips which spin
locked in the mansion by the lake
i love you more than anybody else
yet you don’t know
because for you i’m just a dream
first published in The literati mafia
i inhabit the dance of bears on moonless nights
the moves of acrobats in crowded circuses
the fairy-tales of your childhood
the memories of your past loves
the cavalcade of soldiers
who fight forgotten wars
i breathe the sound of flute played by the satyr Pan
the scents of lonely islands where philosophers write
the swirls of ballerinas in mid-air
the mangoes which in nights of love i bite
bathed in rose oil and coriander
lost in the anarchy of flesh
i am a woman
and for me
the nights of passion
are still fresh
stop spinning in the violet air
there is nobody like me
Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon
the night of candles flickers in the mirror
stretch the time of raspberries and cherries
and stop forever in my soul