“Oh, the four of you at that time!
Like the confluence of four deep, unsettled seas tied together into a magnificent enormous drape of spume; feelings suturing earth and sky like stitches suturing wounds; small fragments of fiction scribbled on paper; books of poetry resonating in the dark like cords of mandolins under the fingers of rejected lovers; fragile withered roses kept forever like relics in a church; the smell of fresh painted canvases mixed with that of salt water.
Any relation with the outside world severed.
That was the reality born out of your fantasy, Clara.”
I was in tears
“Angelo, I know of no other reality but my fantasy.”
Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers”
like a hurt bird falling from the sky
on a forgotten shore
like a cracked violin
in which green lizards nest in silence
like a sea
on which no ship has ever sailed
this sunday hurts
like a love letter
on a barren tree
image: Zoya Kriminskaya/Shutterstock
dawns are breaking in your eyes
virgins with unplaited hair
climb the mountains to the cave
where your songs
the fortunes tell
how your fingers touch the chords
how my heart swells at your sight
how your kisses burn my neck
how the mountain splits
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
in the solstice of the lovers
in the breaking of the bread
deep into your body’s scent
in your tears of despair
and our love will never end
image: Ben Roman/Shutterstock
i linger on your skin
like autumn on the trees
golden leaves sigh on my hips
a cricket’s crying in despair
pianos cough old rhapsodies
your eyes see another me
I open my eyes.
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.
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.
Through sheets of ice Merlin, the Wizard, smiles.