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Clelia Albano Sep 2018
My tears draw the
aerial view of a thick
wood, where the hands
of a ghost, carved an
easel whose flavour
brims my mouth with
crimson and purple.
Inspiration.
My tears draw the
shattered background
of a blurred photo of
green patches hanging
on an empty road.
Grief.
My tears draw branches
of olive trees kissing the
foam of the sea of sigh and
whispers.
Melancholy.
My tears draw palm lines.
They read long life
and well being.
Betrayal.
My tears draw the shape
of his eyes, wide open on
my consistency, as vibrant
as a melody of an arcane
chant, the fingerprints of
his protective gestures,
the circle of fire of his
embrace.
Love.
After I learned of Rose-Lynn Fisher project of visual investigation of the tears I was powerfully inspired… the result, in fact, was stunning. Through the microscope she discovered that for each emotion tears give a different image…
  Sep 2018 Clelia Albano
Esther
just in case
you’re in a dark place
and can’t seem
to find a light switch
or matches even
I want you to know
you are loved
maybe not by yourself
yet
but you are
even though it sounds
like a fairytale for now
at some point
you’ll find the light switch
or the matches
and you’ll be able to see
that the fairytale
came true
and you’re the one
that made it happen
Clelia Albano Sep 2018
The shape of your forehead
drops thoughts of light and
honey over my senses.
You're unaware of your beauty
when you take me by the hand,
gorgeous fingers blossoming on
my skin. Playing this mute game,
weaving the veins of my muscles,
you're unaware of your beauty
Clelia Albano Sep 2018
I don't know if names exist before
things or things exist before names.
I don't know if you are your name
or your name is you. I only know
that I hunt for words I can scream
out loud, I can pronounce tasting
the salt and the sweet inside a
noun that reminds me of you, I
can drink as it was the water in
your iris, I can swallow like waves
of red wine getting me drunk the
way you do. I hunt for words where
I can see you, I can find you, I can
feel you, even in other languages
because one is not enough.
Once there was a time I was obsessed with the "grammatical platonism" of Jean Jolivet. I'm still fascinated by this conundrum of the names and I love to think that Poetry gives me access to a sort of Hyperuranium.
Clelia Albano Sep 2018
That turquoise light, my dear. Sparkling
on our faces when we ran across the
beach, raptured by a sudden craziness
as the waves embraced our flesh. Our
flesh. So fragile and yet strong under
the throw of the dice. I held your hand
while the waves slapped us with pleasure.
You held me tight while the flow of the sea
was taking me away, taking me away, under
the twist of fate. Keep my face on your mind
now and forever into the waves, into the waves…

— The End —