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My first poem
by heart
Never to be forgotten
even if,
now and then,
I simply wish
I hadn't,
I still pray
I could.

Vampiric Embargo

beyond recognition
some crimson delusions
go through life
not knowing
to sum up everything
subtracted and divided
only to be multiplied
by an evil alter ego.
More faithful
than the pale shadows
left a few steps behind
we create lasting
within touch
to prove
to one’s memory
that feeling left out
when into this world
is no tragedy.
by former spells of dew
a mild tempest of stigmas
takes over my atlas.
In the same spirit,
full of horrid enigmas
inseparable from self-consumption,
most revelations
are rooted in two hearts.
Ravaged by the willfulness
of freezing cold
burning cheeks
are eventually embraced
and loved
by the  quiet thieves
that we are,
guilty of arson
and forswearing afterwards.
Q.E.D.and all 
we keep running and running
away from a bloody mess
while in our own heart
we rehearse
coming back for less.


Blind Tasting

I love you. And why shouldn’t I?
You silence me and
color me in this tornado
of aromas
and when at it
you also quench my twirling soul.
I may not be much
to offer,
I may not be a blessing
in disguise
but I do care
more than those morsels of regret
we ingest at dawn
and the crumbs of temptation
locked in my hair.
No waste of words,
No sacrifice too painful
to be borne,
no demons
to feed
on our living flesh and bones.
Sanguine echoes
in this cup’s warmth,
on this square marble table
we are born.
And again.
And again.
Innumerable anticipation sighs
around us,
Dry lips redeem our sobbing
and our vintages
in front of a teary east wind.
Out-of-sight, never in vain,
we mirror our own reflection
behind a thirsty blackout
keeping us quietly in love.


One morning,
I drew a hopscotch design
on the floor in my room.
I was alone,
I could make up my own rules
so each square
was going to be another day
away from you.
Two or three times in a row
- my feet can be clumsy, I know-
I stepped on the thin line
and I would also hop
the wrong square now and then
to challenge the odds
and increase the speed of time.
The game may be useless
and I’m no longer a child
but turning around
would regain me balance
and restore an innocence smile.


Catchers in the Tide

Life happens inside me
As it does inside you
instead of pearl oysters
we are chasing together
the echoes
of startled silhouettes
evicted from memory.
Not all birds fly south
in winter
Not all men tiptoe
in the presence of God.
My fingertips breathe,
A soft stillness
marries the humility
of my prayers
as I kneel down
on the white silk
to succumb to your visions.
Let’s bide here,
I’ll tell you as much or as little
You are my south and my prayers
The spirited pathway
leading my footsteps
to a golden shield.