Clocks drip languor.
White drapes undulate in the breeze of a faraway sea.
The fragrance of oranges blossoms in my hair.
Mysteries of the blue waters exude from your salty skin.
Moorish patterns engrave themselves onto my thighs.
Teardrops scent the air.
Our afternoons: never born, never allowed to die.
image: nito; Shutterstock; [link]
lurking at the margins of your love
does not expand and does not shrink
the lake reflects the light of a dead star
a seagull heaves upward
an aching call
the cosmic Adam does not care
that I was set on his left side
image: Eisfrei: Shutterstock; [link]
Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence, July 28
“Clara, he needs a haircut.”
Miguel rolls his eyes.
“For crying out loud, he is a statue.”
“So? I wonder where the closest barbershop is.”
“Miguel, are you crazy?”
“Yep. Crazy in love with you.”
Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers”
image: Marc Little, Shutterstock; [link]
I follow you onto old streets
hermetic sealers, principles of dark
alchemy, the name of you and me
windows of the courtesans from Syracuse
on which some neophytes waste their time
a boat which never leaves the shore
my body, syllogism of lust
fertility of the flatlands
disoriented rivers confluent on maps
the seventh circle turns into the eighth
people like money, they don’t like art
the wisdom of old sages hidden in plain sight
I wasn’t Beatrice
I should have been
forgive me father, for I’ve sinned
inside the gnostic bridal chamber
I fell in love with him
image: PinkCat; Sutterstock; [link]
look for me my love
my body shines like lightening
striking down from Mount Olympus
I’m the tremble of each tear
which poor hungry children shed
I’m the prayer of the lonely
the garden where the virgins blush
the mystic bite of occult ecstasies
I’m hidden in the Sistine Chapel
in haunted graveyards at midnight
I’m bursting from the keys of the piano
which plays alone Beethoven’s 5th
call for God
breathe me in
I am your soul
23 April 2018 Barista Favorite: i am your soul/short-prose-fiction — Go Dog Go Café
image: DarkGeometryStudios; Shutterstock; [link]
caressed together by the waters of Corinth
inside the darkest forests chasing statuary nymphs
the decadence of Hellenistic love
blissfully raining laughter from above
“the condo of the virgin” sitting empty
the goddess long dissolved into the néant
you softly reading Hebrew texts in Greek
the painful comedy of life on sale this week
first published in Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine; November 25, 2017
the rhythm of castanets awakens the moon
on opal rings your kisses spin
a cricket’s hitting a crescendo
waves tattoo dark shadows on your skin
sonority, you who vibrates the souls
of those who haunt at night the Port of Cartagena
I toss in smells of apricots and plumes
the Hand of Fatima takes off my veils
your forehead sinks into the sweat of lovers
who sever their veins
oh, dream of the unknowns,
the sigh of blood which flows
in spring both mud and flowers grow
didn’t you know
that when you said I love you
you stepped on roads of fables and folk tales?
you glued your heart onto a purple sunset
smells of lilac and of roses, impregnated strolls,
it wasn’t me
it was you who stole his soul
image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]
cradle filled with lava
eating from veined skies
voice which breaks through trees
rocking birds of night
dangling long earrings
ferment in your blood
coins which make no sense
who marked your name
on my chest
A whole week.
Seven agonizing nights; seven suffocating nights rushing over me, parching my soul with their torrid breezes.
Myriads of mosquitoes murmuring in the dark, looking for prey: my own flesh, my own blood.
Nights extending their heavy tentacles over the city, strangling it as a venomous octopus; abandoning it at sunrise lacking vigor, emptied of hopes, filled with trash.
Glued to my heated body, lace and silk soaked in perspiration. I am looking out of the window. I can’t see you.
In this city clocks have no hands, years have no months, months have no days. Outside of time, the city is innocent, perverse, philosophical, suicidal.
Shadows of your eyes; fragments of your voice hidden inside me.
Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
I breathe in an unfamiliar rhythm.
The sun metamorphoses into a golden liquid.
Glittering rivers inundate the sky; orange veins on a blue skin.
The water murmurs.
The pendulum of the earth goes astray.
The North Pole disappears.
The icy castle of wisdom and thought melts before my eyes.
The earth becomes a heated humongous ball, carried by Atlas on his mythical shoulder.
Did you say you love me?
Flamenco dancers toss in my dreams.
image: Jack Q; Shutterstock; [link]