“the night of candlelight and wine” a collaboration with Francisco Bravo Cabrera #poem #poetry

My Dear Readers,

the night of candlelight and wine a collaboration with Francisco Bravo Cabrera, an artist whose work I admire tremendously. Please visit Francisco’s site here

A rose with thorns you wrap around my wrist
I tie your eyes with scents of mandarins
your heartbeats spiral red Cabo de Palos winds
your touches gallop on my wildest dreams
Valencia, garden where the lovers meet
where statues chant the prayers of the hours
and where some other winds,
perhaps the winds of Lent, not ours
will lift Mediterranean sands so we can’t see,
sighs of the future that the two of us could be …
 
Their hands clap bulerías por soleá 
you and I, the same passion, we move to the same rhythm
your eyes undress a Carthaginian fountain 
my hands undress a shadow, is that you? 
we die in love as we had died before
in photographs that are not ours
in the port of Cartagena where we’ve never met
blindfolded looking for each other 
like hedonistic lovers in the nights of carnival
we speak in languages known only by the flesh
this is the night of candlelight and wine
the night of gaps between the piccolos and tubas 
you touch me with a branch of olives
I mark your skin with colored glass
until the morning rises from the sea
and thus… 
Valencia, look what’s happening to people like us

read my 2019 Spillwords Author of the Year interview here
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Eki, by Francisco Bravo Cabrera, oil on canvas, 40x50cm

the miracle of you [included in my upcoming book-Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings] #poem #poetry

the moon’s right-hand
pours soul into my flesh
pigeons’ wings bring scents of lilac blooms
the air gets drunk with poetry
statuary women of the water
flaunt their hair

within the loneliness of you
my heart
rotates five equinoxes on a wooden spindle
your eyes pour flesh into my soul
my body germinates the sounds of growing leaves
I wash my hands into the waters of Guadalquivir
in the scented night of those who never sleep
I say
I love you
and in one single breath
our wedding is transformed
in an enraptured death

was it the moon?
was it the morning dew?
perhaps it was the miracle of you

first published in the KashmirPen Newspaper, April 2019 (slightly modified)
included in my upcoming book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings 

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Maria Okolnichnikova; Shutterstock; [link]

the last love # love poem #poetry

I eat macaroons in the same coffee shop
Roberto’s guitar sells cheap dreams by the sea
young girls are ready for harvest like flowers of lust
I laugh…
I scratch poetry on a glass
I say the first love is French
you ask how’s the last
it smells raspberries, vanilla, and grass
you touch my left wrist
I play a few cards
red flowers bloom on your cheeks
your teeth peel the skin of my gloves
you walk into darkness
I seal you in wax
how’s the last love?
pray..
you shouldn’t have asked

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

and…love… #love poem #poetry

and…
this night is jasmine and is sand
the trees are fingers with no end
the earth has eyes
the tears have thighs

you…
you are the voice of lonely heights
I am the day without sights
a leaf is falling on my hips
into the air a form of lips

and…
your touches hide in poetry
a flower faints with jealousy
your dreams taste like forbidden fruits
the sea grows almonds and grows roots

yet…
the story didn’t write its end
my eyes and yours are a blend
and…
love…

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Vaclav Taus; Shutterstock; [link]

the train to Vienna #love poem #poetry

let’s take the train and go to Vienna
rent a room for a night and then waltz
in your arms the waist of the night trembles
fingertips touch a blue door which is locked
I sit barefoot on the floor
the windows’ eyelashes are yellow and drunk
your voice moves stones in a lonely graveyard
to bury the tears I cry
and lonely like children of war
we cut in two the same pain for one night
you, the kiss of the love that could be
I, the rhythm of three beats in each bar
in Prater Park they sell lollipops
years pass by in one night
I rest my head on your shoulder
and the train to Vienna has stopped

draft
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: KimSongsak; Shutterstock; [link]

Andalusian Resurrection #poem #poetry

 

In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
Federico García Lorca

open your veins Andalusia
let him drink from your lynx blood
inject the rhythms of the flamenco
under the coldness of his eyes
tattoo his flesh with tiles of azurite
pour the sounds of castanets
into his arms
my fingers swirl
the flesh of ripened olives
covers the old shroud
the flow of blood from the white shirt
has stopped
I hear his voice
there is one cross
and you’re my only love
my body arches
oils flame in my hair
a Moorish verse falls from a wall
covering my cries

Andalusia
I kneel among your cacti fed by salt
your wounded lashes
resurrected him
for yet
another night

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image: Fernando Cortes; Shutterstock; [link]

My poem I’ll Return published in Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine #poetry

Thank you to Brian Geiger, the editor of Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine, for publishing my piece “I’ll Return.”
(this poem was initially posted on this blog under another name)

I open my veins in warm waters
each time when you like what I write
the sound of the sands in the darkness
the eyes of the desert are dried
the midnight windows are opened
I jump like a lynx from a cage
dressed in cold winds and in black
barefoot…

continue reading with WP here
or
on Vita Brevis Press here 

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

I open my veins #poem #poetry

I open my veins in warm waters
each time when you like what I write
the sound of the sands in the darkness
the eyes of the desert are dried
the midnight windows are opened
I jump like a lynx from a cage
dressed in cold winds and in black
barefoot
I land on the yolk of young times

I paid all the bills do not worry
I buried my bracelets by the green wall
white shirts are lined in the closet
this sand tastes like canvas and paint
I sharpen my eyes
my fingers are stretched
from the cosmic tomorrow
I enter tonight

I’ll return do not worry
disheveled, loves cry between us
remember the words of Persian Sibyl
who sold you my soul for three coins?
the time is fluid like rivers
waterlilies can bloom in the sand

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image:  Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]