"settembre" poems
We cruise rattlesnake bends.
Once in, you
find phantom lakes;
I - a full moon
over mountains of clay.
Sitting at the wooden table
the sun rises to my right
and the mountains become blue
under a grapefruit-shake sky.
My hands are ***** My lips
dry.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 1:19 AM UTC
Sei comparsa al portone
in un vestito rosso
per dirmi che sei fuoco
che consuma e riaccende.
Una spina mi ha punto
delle tue rose rosse
perché succhiassi al dito,
come già tuo, il mio sangue.
Percorremmo la strada
che lacera il rigoglio
della selvaggia altura,
ma già da molto tempo
sapevo che soffrendo con temeraria fede,
l'età per vincere non conta.
Era di lunedì,
per stringerci le mani
e parlare felici
non si trovò rifugio
che in un giardino triste
della città convulsa.
1.2k
it was the first time we met; i was freshly 18.
and that Fiorentino barbuto--i guessed aloud that he was 24.
and he laughed at me, but softly.
i got into this italian's car unquestioningly,
the 'plan A' having been compromised.
Whitney Houston in my ears;
his hand drifting over my thigh;
the gold bracelet on his wrist.
desolate hilltop, well outside city center.
it was nighttime. so many twigs and leaves;
bottle of red;
political conversation;
sitting on two tree stumps;
trying to speak spanish;
city below.
we stood up.
his left hand took me; i bet he bruised me somewhere.
(i had shaved all over, thank god)
he caressed my face with his right,
his thumb dragging against my jaw
as he surely longed for someone who had left,
and i longed for the one i was yet to meet.
i saw the golden lights through my eyes pressed shut.
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 11:27 PM UTC
Le mani con un tremito
del telefono stringevano il filo;
mi aveva poco prima
recato la tua voce
che mi diceva addio.
Un vagante raggio ebbe la luce,
tenue filo dell'anima
del mio bacio donato
solo dal desiderio.
Ma dall'esilio ci libererà
l'ostinato mio amore.
781
Lost on the ***** slabs
of Tenaya Peak,
we sang at bears in the moonlight.
The prusik came in handy in the end,
and the two sixty-metres ropes.
Then,
the lake saved us;
our lips too dry to smile.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC