“she is just eyes,” a poem in collaboration with bogpan. You can find more of his wonderful poetry on his blog.
she is just eyes
tonight
the moon rests on her neck
i write with a black feather her words
fragile lines on my palms
a sibyl prophesizes
a buzzing bee
reaches out like a cat
above the hills of Florence
like Galileo Galilei I exclaim
“And yet it moves”
the bee lands on her shoulder
my eyes are burning blue
the memory of you awakes the moon
seahorses gallop in the ocean
algae wrap around my body
the Mount of Olives weeps
and moves
the room is quiet like a tomb
the smell of jacarandas looks for you
among the pages of an ancient book
the night is spinning its black fume
a shadow dances
on the wall
the room is quiet like a tomb
when clocks announce mid-night
and lovers fall into a mystic scented sleep
run with me and let’s get married
in the blue forest of my dreams
let’s walk barefoot in the middle of the glen
look, frantic butterflies entangle in my hair
whispering fresh daisies drape my body
green leaves dress quietly your naked shoulders
the moon sets our altar among trees
crickets sing the symphony of love
like church choirs in the dusk
steel a star and set it on my finger
on the cobweb of yellowish moon rays
tree sap seals our union forever
your soul starts flowing into mine
let’s not move until the morning
when we will witness our bodies
merging into a fascinating cosmic tree
marry me!
*******
inefficiency does not inspire me.
we were getting married at midnight
waves were washing our naked feet
your face was shaved, my hair smelled almonds
you cried
and tears covered my veiled lips
your old grandmother’s cross was nesting on my breast
songs of nightingales resounded in the honeyed water
new pearls were braided on my dress
kisses flowed
and borrowed lace adorned my hips
your hands looked for my garter…
i woke up…
we were just the poor strangers
who got married and then drank
the scented wine
at the mystic wedding
in the eternal Cana Galilee*
the moon rose from the sea…
*Cana of Galilee
i am the voice of your past loves
resounding in your wildest fantasies
dressed in roses at the altar of your dreams
i am the one you’ve never had
my soul flows from the tears of the Nile
from the hands of children who still beg
through ruins, darkness, and deep pain
through wars which they will never understand
i am the last who will be saved
for i have sinned under the shadow of your cross
when Spanish fountains cry in the sunset
i am the Desdemona who you’ve never met
today Granada’s just the place
in which Garcia Lorca once was killed
i am the feather of a gold macaw bird
and in the city where bells toll
i am the one whose cries you’ve never heard.
Glass of tequila in his hand, white shirt half open on his chest, raillery in his powerful voice, Jacques’ eyes pierced into Miquel’s:
‘Salud Conquistador!’
Miguel laughed, handsome as sin, wind in his inky hair, flames in his green eyes, hands caressing my hips.
‘A votre santé, mon Maréchal de France!’
His laughter resonated in the depths of the night. A shrill echo came back through the cool air.
*
Jacques’ blue eyes fixed into mine. My eyes flickered into his. He spoke:
“Sin takes place in the mind not in the flesh.”
Shock. Jacques was forcing me to fight my own shadows. My hands pressed on Miguel’s; my body tensed. Miguel’s lips shivered.
Knifes were out. All bets were off. One of us was going to break.
*******
Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
Photo credit: Pixabay
I open my eyes.
Shimmers.
Over the night an enormous spider transformed the canopy of the bed into a cobweb made from white diamond dust.
I can see you through it.
You are by the lake.
My royal purple lotus floats silently on the surface of the water.
Morning dew adorns the grass.
In the music room the piano starts playing.
A bunny jumps on my bed. Is that one of your tricks?
Indelible memories of a night in which your hands touched my body come alive.
Silk embraced by skin.
You dive and swim toward the purple lotus.
One of your fingers touches its petals.
My pupils dilate.
No!!!!
I didn’t tell you. There is a love curse. He who touches the lotus…
I can’t hear my voice anymore.
The music hits a crescendo.
The lake freezes.
It’s over.
Through sheets of ice Merlin, the Wizard, smiles.
i smell salt and mangoes
algae float on lips
humid sunset juices
linger on my body
sheets are soft like grass
in the breeding season
of passions made of glass
sail me in your boat
neurotic waves
washing on my breasts
when fires burn old altars
verse for me a moon
to wear it on my finger
breathe with me the waters
where love forever lingers.
it’s june
and cherries ripen
under the burning moon
erotic pollen settles on the books
young girls are tossing in their sleep
and in the kingdom by the sea
there is no sign of Annabel*
the symbolism of the great poet dead
the verse a sensually braided thread
the grass is shedding tears
on my naked body
loneliness is weeping
at your feet
and in the kingdom by the sea
i’m slowly dying
longing for your kiss.
*
Reference to “Annabel Lee,” by Edgar Allen Poe
A full moon weeps cold fragrant oil on my face. I shiver.
The cicadas’ song penetrates the ethereal membranes of the space.
On one of my thighs a purple mark sighs and then falls asleep.
Looking for prey a snake’s tongue splits the time in two. I feel the bite.
*
The gallop of your horse on one side of the time.
Echoes of febrile nights of love invade my body.
I can smell roses.
I can hear the song:
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Ay, ay mi amor
Ay mi morena de mi corazón
*
On the other side of time a church bell tolls.
Silence and sanctity carved in wood.
Roots.
Lingering in my nostrils fragrances of white ginger flowers overpower the scent of the roses.
Humid fingers caress my lips.
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Ay, ay mi amor…
Hidden in oils aromas the end waits to be written.
