Italian love songs                              
Canzoni d'amore italiane

fires the need, touch touch caress.        
alla necessità, tocco tocco carezza

my hand engulfs her little finger,              
la mia mano avvolge il suo mignolo
sliding down from her knuckle,                
scivolando giù dalla sua nocca,
to the glassine hard smooth of                
alla glassina dura liscia di
a petite fingernail, contradicting,            
un'unghia minuta, contraddittoria,
confirming the sensational opposition    
confermando l'opposizione sensazionale

the forefinger performs a solo,                
l'indice esegue un assolo,
exciting the ear’s topography,                  
eccitante la topografia dell'orecchio,
the sexuality of hill, vale, spaces,            
la sessualità di collina, valle, spazi,
curvatures extending an invitation,          
curvature che estendono un invito,
the neck, plane of the neck, take            
prendere il collo, piano del collo

I’m no longer of surety possessing,        
Non ** più la garanzia di possedere,
is it my finger or my tongue, is it              
è il mio dito o la mia lingua, vero?
that my finger became my tongue,        
che il mio dito è diventato la mia lingu,
all senses at attention, blurred,              
tutti i sensi all'attenzione, sfocato,
the love song enactment, touch              
recitazione della canzone d'amore, tocco
                      
<>

the confusion of love is its clarity, the master and the slave
becoming one

la confusione dell'amore è la sua chiarezza, il padrone e lo schiavo diventano uno

she just shakes her head

she meets me on the street-corner, me from work, she from dance,
in the grayling dusk of a thank god it’s a freedom Friday night,
I greet her with words semi-adventurous -

“come with me, few errands to run, keep me in good company”

to the candy store we go for to purchase my weekend eve
lottery tickets and blow-pop lollipops, just in case some
kids appear, a surprise omen as they come
trick-or-treating just before Thanksgiving


the Bangladeshi candyman calls out a long prayer
in his native Bangla

she asks “what’s that he’s saying?”

“Oh, just wishing us a pleasant Sabbath and
may his gods smile upon our good lottery fortune”

she just shakes her head, from side to side

emerging from the store, walking home in the
now doubly ***** darkly dusk,
a set of white teeth from a passing shadow-man says to me
“you’re home late and have a great weekend,”

she asks, “who is that?”

“why,” I reply, “that is our very own personal postal carrier’

she says:
“he delivers mail to ten thousand people all in buildings tall,
yet knows your name, your face,
where you buy your lottery tickets,
your coming and going hours,
how came that to be”

but waits not for an answer
she just shakes her head, from side to side

I show her my secret entrance to our apartment house,
the fast route to collect our mail, dry cleaning in one fell swoop
a secret door, secret elevator taking us directly to our apartment

a secret elevator which is under the direction of
Bimal from Nepal,
who I greet in Nepalese, (my tutor)
I, asking after Brian and Bryce, his 100% American boys

now she says nothing, but before our door, as I go key digging,
she just shakes her head, from side to side

later she says:

“let’s order in, apprise me of  your expertise,
some exotic fare from Manhattans First Avenue,
known for its aphrodisiacal powers
afterwards,
you must tell me each dishes name,
in its tongue’s nativity,
but much, much later,”

and as she speaks, grinning,
she sticks out her tongue,
while she just shakes her head,
but this time,

up
and
down