Write me love letters
Don Quixote is still standing in Madrid
Fighting windmills perpetually caught
In his imagination’s grid.
Like Dante using iambic pentameters
Write me the pain ripping your heart
Write me an epic like Homer
Armor my soul with magic art.
And build for me a citadel of love
Its walls the crystal of my tears
Its altar’s candles luminating
The path for lovers of all years.
Please, trap me in the rhythms of the Flamenco
Whose sounds invade the nights of Southern Spain
To breathe the notes of the guitars which play,
And, fill the lustrous eyes with burning pain.
And trap me in the Florence of my dreams
To walk with Leonardo in its streets,
To verse in Greek, and cry with the Madonna
When the last word of Christ forever speaks.
Continue reading here
No murmurs of the mandolins tonight
Sensual caresses caught in tears
Snow flowing under lonely sheets
Heavy steps of musketeers.
The age of fable is now past
Dice shivering in Eros’ palms
Into the winter of your soul
A double of Dumas is reading
From a lonely book of psalms.
for the daily prompt: age
* reference to Thomas Bulfinch’s work The Age of Fable
Punctuating your imagination
Half-moons deep hidden
In your metaphors
Roses dressed in carnal visions
Winter winds designing ores.
Amalgamations of semantics
Zephyr is blowing from the west
Cascades of pain are falling from the ceiling
White plants encroaching on my breasts
Love whispers on my lips are reeling.
Archaic veils are undulating
Within the sparkling times that passed
The hands of clocks are moving backwards
And let’s enthrall the mappemonde
With our love reflection in the glass.
daily prompt sparkle
Come, red carnations stain the sheets
And candles flicker in the heavy silver
Red wine is breathing in the crystal glasses
Fine lace is flowing in the alcoves like a river.
Come, watch the shadows playing on the wall
When aromatic air is resting on the pillows
The Siamese is purring in her basket
And bowls are filled with reddish tamarillo.
Read the entire poem here
Destiny thought I was born under the brightest star
Thought I would conquer worlds from near or afar
But he miscalculated by one grade
And fated me to love you till the end.
For Wednesday Writing Prompt at Jamie Dedes
Let’s kiss into the shadows of the Pala D’Oro
Full moons are bathing Venice into gold
The door of the Basilica was opened
The tale of the Byzantine’s refinement told.
Let’s kiss into the sound of Adriatic waters
And ride Venetian horses built in stone
Let’s change the end of Thomas Mann’s novella
Erasing Death in Venice with our kiss’ cyclone.
Let our kisses be transformed in sparkling chandeliers
Made of Murano glass suspended on the ceilings
Of all the souls who cried in Venice
Unknown, rejected, wounded in their feelings.
Most of you will recognize the work of Gustav Klimt: “The Kiss”. However, the image here is a picture of a copy of his painting made entirely of Murano glass on the Island of Murano, Venice.
And Edgar Allan Poe is laughing
With no mercy, as he always did.
Don’t sing my praises in your poems
You know I’m not the courtesan
Who whispers crafted loving words
And pantomimes the innocence
To gain the favors of the bruised admirers
Disoriented flying like black birds.
Just come in bed with me tonight
And let’s make love
The love we’ve always made
In an attempt to leave this universe
Devouring each other bit by bit
Like in a painting signed by Salvador Dali
Going beyond the fear of a terrifying death
Each time we knew a hurricane will hit.