I forgot what that poem says;
the one I wrote to you inebriated
lost in the ocean of cheap wine.
The ocean that took me to know your lips
and the taste of your Mediterranean cheeks.
That sorrowful night
when you escaped from the convent
to spend the night in a park with me.
That night when you tried to play my guitar
and you laughed at all the foolish things
I did
to try to bite you
slightly under your habits.
That night when it looked like it was going to rain;
because the trees were cold
and we were stunned watching how they folded their branches
to keep warm while they drank coffee.
That night when the colors disappeared and I became invisible to your violet eyes.
That night when I taught you
the bass of come as you are
that you learned all at once.
It was that night, yes it was that night;
when I also listened to your entire repertoire
and you said you knew more
but you didn't remember.
That night when you told me
your clandestine romances
and the sacred secrets
of the most holy prostitute.
And that you told me about your rituals with people made of dead plaster.
And how you felt empty.
Empty from worshipping dry wood and cement.
Sono piú felice con te
That you were happier with me.
Per quei baci buttare via la vostra abitudini
That for my kisses you would throw your habit in the trash.
And you threw them away
But I never saw you again.
For our romance was of a single night
And of a few kisses
And of a crab taste.
Your mouth tasted like crab to me
sea salt
pepper
lemon
uncovered skin.
YOU ARE READING
My loves, Love of my home
RomanceI had the amusing task of managing eight girlfriends; Colita blanquita, Colita negrita, Huesita radioactiva, Intensita enamorada, Anita la preciosa, Larguita la prima, Inquieta perversa and Pasmadita solapada. This risky undertaking was developed du...
