The window frames
a rectangle of skyline.
A carillon plays Brahms’s lullaby.
The neighbors’ baby
is not sleeping yet.
A bedside lamp throws
a soft light on our serene faces.
Nothing special, it could seem.
And yet this night is a delight.
I lean on your body
while you’re speaking.
Your voice is music for my heart.
I love the words you say
I love the way you say them.
With my index finger
I follow the lines of your veins
like the roads of I place
I love to explore.
We almost perfectly match.
Our tastes, our thoughts, our ideals.
Our minds meet where
our souls merge together.
But now, my sweetheart
now that I’m rubbing my cheek
on your shoulder,
like a cat looking for cuddles,
now I can’t help thinking
that I want your sweat.
for such a long silence. Thank you for your support! I’ll be here around again!
For so many years her nights had been more similar to escapes than to moments of quietness. Her husband slept too close to her and often he crushed her body with his, almost suffocating her. So she tried to distance herself from him, but he got even closer, ‘till, in her desperate attempt to gain a little of space, she found herself on the edge of the bed ( many times she fell down). In Winter there was also the battle for blankets. Her husband cocooned in covers, while her teeth were chattering for cold. She could only pull the covers with all her strength and hold them tight. Day after day she got used to sleep seizing the mattress with one hand and with the other holding the blankets. A habit that went on even when she was awake; always feeling on the edge of a chasm, clinging to life with one hand, holding her few certainties with the other one and having the haunting sensation that somebody was going to crush her.
Words were fluttering
on our smiles.
Slightly and swiftly
they followed the playful traces
of our orthographic amusement,
of our syntactical games,
of our grammatical enchantment.
Only the silvery cascades
of our laughters interrupted
the melody of our phrases.
A sudden silence made words
perch on the branches
of our feelings.
It was the sound of our kiss.
thank you for your support. I’ll start posting again soon.
My latest conditions and something that occurred today are bringing me to think seriously to deactivate this account. I’ve struggled with all my remaining forces but sometimes we must surrender to the fact that life is stronger than us. I haven’t definitely decided yet. So I’ll take my time to ponder this situation. I would like to thank you for all the support and the affection that so many times have helped me to bear the hardest moments. When I say “I love you all” I really mean it.
Rain was humming the perfect soundtrack for that afternoon. On the unmade bed, really unmade, the creased sheets uselessly covered their bodies. They weren’t sheets anymore, but a tantalizing invitation to wrap and unwrap lovers’ mutual exploration. In a grey light warmed by the yellowish orange blazes of the fireplace two people were stretching, snuggling and purring like lazy cats yet ebullient was their search of hidden recesses of pleasure. They kissed on their skins the words that their souls spoke. Their hands were tracing the lines of a superior design: love is the greatest artist of all. Fortunately the pale blue wallpaper couldn’t hear or see, thus it couldn’t blush. The angel in the painting shyly watched the window where rain was drawing its watery laces. The old bed was squeaking their passionate assaults; indiscreet bed! It had witnessed so many battles that it couldn’t help spreading rumours.
Giggles and sly looks, a wide stillness fading into dazzled rapture and then, again the rush, the hunger of a furious, unbounded tangle.
Hours lingered in an expansion of their merging selves, but clock, for them, was only an object hanging on the wall.