in the season of my sorrow #poem

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in the season of my sorrow

barren branches cry like birds

scrolls verse desperately something

who cares about verses anyway?

the hands of an old city clock just stopped

violet hills are raped by bullets

children are not told bedtime stories

hungry eyes aimed at my dress

you say i’m not the one

i’ve always been

i cannot see new moons

which bathe my skin in gold and coriander

you’re right, my love

for in the season of my sorrow

something’s old

and something’s borrowed

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

melt me #poem

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my love,

dawns are breaking in your eyes

virgins with unplaited hair

climb the mountains to the cave

where your songs

the fortunes tell

ah,

how your fingers touch the chords

how my heart swells at your sight

how your kisses burn my neck

how the mountain splits

the sky

walk the roads with your guitar

spread your fingers on my skin

i’m the part you’ve never played

i’m the one you’ve never had

find me

in the solstice of the lovers

in the breaking of the bread

lock me

deep into your body’s scent

melt me

in your tears of despair

and our love will never end

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

you love me #poem

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you love me

like dolphins love to swim in warm and shallow waters

luscious humid silhouettes of the aquatic world

your fingers touch the texture of my silky skin

like priests in darkness the new testament

solemnly touch

 

you love me

says the royal palm tree in the garden

which every morning waves to me

i lost my golden earrings and i found them

among the crushed carnations spread on our bed

the night in which Mendoza wine fermented our destinies

into its scent

 

you know

i’ve never understood why you love me

the Howard Miller mahogany grandfather’s clock has stopped

somewhere it’s winter on the mappemonde

lost paradises hide in stones of silver bracelets

why did you come?

and if you came

why did you leave?

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

in the city made of stones #poem

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in the city made of stones

winds play chords of violins

thighs made of Carrara marble

yearn the flesh of the young girls

tired lizards climb a wall

the forgetfulness of time

your hands bury in a rock

my warm body

my bright eyes

i go down with a long moan

in the marble’s ebb and flow

 

in the city made of stones

the next morning

grass has grown

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

neuroses #poetry

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your eyes are young

my breath is heavy

sunflowers vanish in the frost

the tea is boiling

and the cat is purring

it’s autumn in the northern hemisphere

while summer comes on Rio de la Plata

 

i knew a poet who once said

i want to die unknown on Rio de la Plata

his eyes were old

his arms were strong

i ran to you deep in the northern hemisphere

and autumn came

to bury me into its neuroses’ mold

 

your body’s hot

my body’s cold

the room is quiet like a tomb

a nun is kneeling in the street

it’s autumn in the northern hemisphere

while summer comes on Rio de la Plata

 

draft

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

i’m coming after you #poetry

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i’m coming after you

my nails will scratch your shoulders

when sunsets fall over the Taj Mahal

that’s when you first will feel my soul

that’s when

the goddess once dethroned from our earth

will make you feel the pain

of those whose dreams were planted

in an empty bowl

 

i’m barging into memories of your past loves

my breast heaves under my silver armor

my lips shiver on your naked skin

my eyes bite from your blue veins

poems which you wrote in other lives

lined up like soldiers ready for the battle

against the Hellenistic decadence

which creeps into my laughter

 

there are no stars to help you

the moon is turning blue

you think you’ve ever loved?

i’m coming after you

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

don’t wait for me #poetry (revised)

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don’t wait for me

please find another lover

i’m riding camels with the Bedouins

watching the golden sunset coiling in the desert

i’ll enter Alexandria by morning

the day Mark Anthony committed suicide

 

don’t wait for me

go find another lover

i’m in the Île de la Cité on Friday the thirteenth

the Friday which forever will be feared

the smell of burning flesh is choking me

the Knights Templar are shedding tears

 

don’t look for me

until I’m writing you again

past sunsets murmur in gray fumes

and in the night before His resurrection

like Mary Magdalene

i’m looking for a tomb

 

@short-prose-fiction