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.
my body arches
under the weight
of your passions
like a young branch
under ripened fruit
it smells old books
rain and baked sweets
between your heart and mine
the Easter of Roses
come back to me my prince from unknown lands
where orange suns flame tops of granite mountains
your pain will disappear into the néant
i’ll read you ancient legends on the beach
in nights when mermaids’ voices crave lost heroes
for you I’ll stop the ebb and flow
i’ll make the sun to set on eastern temples
i will transform my body in a flame
in moonless nights like shooting stars
your hidden passions on my skin will glow
come back to savor ripened mango from my hands
when the piano plays nocturnal rhythms of love
when purple jacaranda is in bloom
and fresh hibiscuses sleep on my pillows
we’ll wait in silence for the skies to open
the waves will build an altar on the ocean
gold fish will crown my head like precious diamonds
in ocean’s spumes my body will be dressed
come back to me my prince from fragrant dreamy lands.
He once said: “A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.”
Well, I would like to know what makes a desert a world.
Once one steps in a desert one understands that the only love that can make the desert a world is the love for the desert itself.
It’s cold. It rains dry frozen stars.
There is no world without you.
The camel looks at me awkwardly.
Lawrence Durrell, Justine: “A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.”
In the juicy pomegranate pulp – at the core of my being – I looked for me.
Instead I found you.
A red sunset coiled his flames around my fingers.
I touched you.
Your lips touched the sweet wine of Madeira.
In the grand scheme of things love was bestowed on us as an acute reminder of the inexorable power of Providence.
Tell me I’m wrong.
the bed grows fragrant roots
the night flavors mango juices
candles flicker on yearning bodies of fated lovers
riverbeds of dry wrinkles
no one writes to the colonel
in a corner
from a cacti’s areola a flower grows
the night whispers rapid drops of rain
“i don’t have a throne, my queen
or somebody that understands me” *
over and over
your voice plays
on my fragile skin
“no tengo trono ni reina
ni nadie que me comprenda”
Luis Miguel Gallego Basteri, “El Rey”
One day a scented spring will wash the blackness of your silences away from my skin.
A few months ago it rained jasmine: blossomed fragrant skin.
You didn’t notice.
dress my body
in ocean spumes
my heart drifts toward yours
in the humid morning garden
drops of dew
verse on my palms
in love with you
cupid shoots his bow
i hide behind a wall of scented memories
then I run
tens of arrows follow me
i stumble upon the root of a banyan tree
it smells sap and salty air
a Spanish guitar vaguely murmurs
i remember dancing in Santo Domingo
arching my back
moving my hips
i still run
arrows follow me
i can see Granada
i can see Pompei
agonizing pain in my left arm
i fall into a bed of violet azaleas
there is no air between your skin and mine
you bite my lips
your hands press on my thighs
passions burst on my neck
in a million of silky butterflies
i can’t breathe
the die is cast
is yesterday’s past