Wooden Bed #poem #poetry

I know some fields
in which the flesh of poppies smiles
when blonde sunsets play classical guitars
I know the coffee shop in which you stop
the gypsy lady who foretold our luck

listen,
inside the shadows of the night of eucalyptus
winds unbraid their fragrant hair
a moon serves wine in crystal glasses
inside the mirrors blue souls dance in pairs

I have to go
I can’t write more
send my kisses to the ocean’s waves
don’t sell the wooden bed in which we first made love
the dress embroidered by my mother’s hands
save the letters that my father wrote before he died
I’m rushing
guards are coming
my wrists will be soon stamped

yours forever,
from a concentration camp

@short-prose-fiction

 

i can’t win #poetry

i hang flowers in the trees

i grow hands to heal all wounds

at my feet the forest sings

naked love from Saturn’s rings

rains on poppies in the fields

i move forward

and i mix

boiling teas with saps of passion

i coil laurels on your body

i knit kisses on your lips

yet…

fruits are bursting into blood

winds are choked by mounds of pyre

you’re not here

i can’t win

for the rifle will still fire