Love Call #morning fantasy

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I awake under the cap of a mushroom.

Its spores surround me like stalactites hanging from the ceiling of a cave.

Rubbing his forewings, a cricket chirps.

Is that you calling for me?

I know it’s you. You must be hiding in the grass!

Come out!

Every evening I’ll bathe your body in milk and honey.

Every morning I’ll dress you in a cloak woven from mulberry silk. I’ll grow wings around your ankles, so you can fly above the Himalayas.

Late night I’ll rub ginger oil onto your skin; every stalactite will fall in love with you.

At midnight when the Siamese purrs on my left thigh, I’ll dip my fingers into rose oil and mend your wounds.

We’ll kiss in the fragrance of leaves, roots, and ripened berries.

Why aren’t you answering?

Where are you hiding?

Come out!

 

the fruit of love #night fantasy

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the juicy fruit of love lies open on a heavy silver tray: its pulp is orange, and its seeds are red

under the alabaster moon, like in the mist of secret sermons, your humid fingers design blue petals on my fragile body

drapes made from the feathers of forgotten purple honey-creepers sleep virginly into the breeze coming from the west

on checkered marble tiles cicadas sing the first Chopin nocturne in B minor

little fairies with big eyes dance tarantella in the air

i see into the purple of your lips the shadow of the woman you will love

don’t move

let me watch the little fairies eating from the fruit of love

when they are done we’ll run into the meadows where trees sleep, and rivers stretch like cats

there on the silky grass will bite together from the alabaster moon

and our love

into another century will bloom

 

Marigolds #Morning Fantasy

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I run into the garden of my dreams. The sky opens, the marigolds yawn, and then change colors.

Silence. The silence of the night when my head rested on your shoulder; the night in which the North Pole caught fire melting like a piece of butter on a heated pan.

An African violet beats her eyelashes at me. A second then she shrinks into oblivion. Her memory floats on my retina.

Spanish moss lingers on the murky waters of the Bayou.

A purple honeycreeper starts singing.

Smell of fresh cocoa penetrates my nostrils.

Old wounds crawl on my skin; columns of ants locking for honeydew on a tropical tree.

I fight back.

Your eyes turn from black to blue as they always do in the heat of passion.

Wait… I am not with you anymore. Who is with you? Sheets of time undulate; lonely drapes in the ocean’s breeze. I cannot see who is with you!

My breath accelerates.

I start running.

I hit a tree root.

Pain.

Millions of colors burst into my eyes; pieces of time flow over the forest.

The sky closes. Marigolds cry.

Where are you?

 

The Purple Lotus #morning fantasy

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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.

 

come back to me #poetry

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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.

 

Desert Love #Flash Fiction

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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.

 

on my fragile skin #poetry

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the bed grows fragrant roots

the night flavors mango juices

candles flicker on yearning bodies of fated lovers

centuries pass

drought

riverbeds of dry wrinkles

cockfights

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