Friday, February 24, 2006

This Beauty is Soft

This beauty is soft -- as if music and wood,
agate, cloth, wheat, peaches the light shines through
had made an ephemeral statue.
And now she sends her freshness out, against the waves.

The sea dabbles at those tanned feet, repeating
their shape, just imprinted in the sand.
And now she is the womanly fire of a rose,
the only bubble the sun and the sea contend against.

Oh, may nothing touch you but the chilly salt!
May not even love disturb that unbroken springtime!
Beautiful woman, echo of the endless foam,

may your statuesque hips in the water make
a new measure -- a swan, a lily --, as you float
your form through that eternal crystal.


Meaning and Misplacement

"love on me - this love,
love on me, this love, love..."

Oh, Godhead.
What can I possibly say?

Sit down close to me.
I know -
it is so beautiful, so severe.
Mi scusi, il mio tesoro,
I cavalli
non potrebbero
trascinarme lontano.

It begins in the light of
a high-winded chiesa, stirs
in the grasses beyond
the plain - I cavalli
non potrebbero
trascinarme lontano.

Hands designed for two,
fingers begin to fade
the need from lack.

A moment, a moment, a winter implosion,
felt below the creases of
our shirts that cling,
like there has never
so much at stake.

And it is marvel
that smoothed the lines
written into our
palms - it fastens them
together, like seed to soil.

Stand amid these defenses
and you will see it: the fire
that [rises]
from my breath.

Four hours or so from
the storm: a coupé, secure,
mind race, and
vigore terrestre.

[Italian], the only suitable
'sure thing' - yea. Oh, oh,
and intention.
How the hell
are you supposed to leave?

Sunday, February 19, 2006


The way I feel when I am in your eyes,
I become liquid longing - liquid blue.

It is how I reflect in winter, like a drop
of wetness in the center of the boughs.

Perhaps it is the way my spine aches
beneath your voice - pulling each goose

bump from my flesh. It does not matter,
our thoughts and desires are as one:

we will rise beyond this city, place our
hands where the season cannot reach,

where we are warmed by sunset’s fire,
like poetry or the stir of summered grass.

And there, in that moment, our bodies
will touch tightly, to keep out the cold.

Friday, February 17, 2006

It's been a extensive winter, my love.
Once the soil softens, I will sow
your words into the garden - my palms,
wet with curiosity.

In spring, the sun calms:
its warmth will smooth these cool
hands, changing season, where
everything tastes like poetry, shifting
hours, like the curves of your mouth in
admiration - to ensure I do not forget you.

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Thursday, February 16, 2006

This morning I stretched
across the bed,
my nightgown
my hips -
I thought of you.

Monday, February 13, 2006

And in the idle darkness, comes the bite!

Good God, come to me, touch flesh
with fantasy, fill wintered nights of
longing, in cherrydream.

I lie awake - it's 3 am and my pulse
races at the thought of eagerhand
as it searches pulp beneath cotton
dress, beneath innocence.

Seperate lips with tenderbreath, Tesoro,
while whispering, 'Tu si bella' and this
european blood will stir,
this european blood will stir.

Buon San Valentino

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Al mio amore,

Let me lose myself in the fullness
of your lips
as they carve our names
in fluster-tongue.
Press yourself into me, Tesoro
until my curves become the contours
of the sand beneath us,
until we become one.

Ti amo con tutta l'anima ♥


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