The Purple Lotus #morning fantasy


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.

It’s over.

Through sheets of ice Merlin, the Wizard, smiles.


come back to me #poetry


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


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


the bed grows fragrant roots

the night flavors mango juices

candles flicker on yearning bodies of fated lovers

centuries pass


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


cupid’s bow #poetry


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

tomorrow’s salvation

is yesterday’s past