Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.

Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

I met you twice.
Once in reality, once in my dreams. Your skin tasted like the smell of the humid air after the rain, merging both lives into one the noir dreams and the reality of nirvana.
Hallucinating each brain cell into this delusional taste of your soul that despairs me of processing what my pupils can see.
The incantation your fingers played is like a loud instrument awakening my hypnagogic illusions.
As we fall, in between you stand precaution to plunge into the eroticism of your soul and governed by your cerebrum.

I could use countless hours
to paint with words about my
melancholic, idyllic
cultminating and thrilling feelings
But if you let me
I could write
continuous books about
how the gods smiled
when they created you
About how you taught me
to swim between
your toes and your ribs
About how you
put the stars in the sky
and about how you're the sun
and I'm the moon
and that you created those stars
to spare me from solitude
when you were about to die
and I about to live





to J.P

Eat me baby
raw with passion
steamed and crisp
tear me apart
drizzle me with honey
eat me baby
carnivorous delight
silver platter
just for you
bare your teeth
cooked to perfection
eat me baby
lick your lips
lick me
and lick the plate clean.