Posts Tagged ‘desire’

triangulation of desire


he had kind eyes,
a warm and kind sense
of justice
and a charming smile
that could get him out
of any trouble.

that was almost nothing
but just enough
to fine-tune
my appetite.




what a riot
is the fire
of our desires
and all the ways
we seek
to ride them.

come autumn


I dreamt that we consumed
our summer love a little later,
let our hearts blossom
with a bit of a delay,
honoring the slow burn of our
veiled desire.

I dreamt that I uttered my love
right into the shell of your ear
so that the autumn breeze wouldn’t carry my words away.

I dreamt that we enjoyed my vacation
minute by minute,
and that I took you to all the spots I wanted
to show you,
courted you nicely and smoothly
with all the quirky dates I had planned
(but that we didn’t go because we didn’t
get to be)

I dreamt that we embraced tightly,
skin on skin,
under the mild sun of Copacabana beach.
sprawled on the still-hot white sand
e conversed deeply over cold beer,
laughing among
butterfly kisses on the nose,
hickeys on the neck
and flirty bites on the thighs…

(until your lover found out,
that is,
and punched me in the eye.
then, in my dream, you cried,
a heart divided between two darlings…
but don’t cry.
she’s got you now.)



long I thought I had forgotten, but now in the eye of the mind, I recall that day with unparalleled fondness, with unmatched sweetness.

I reminisce, after a day filled with the rush of the bustling crowd and the oppressive heat of kitchen vapors, feeling anxious, wondering if you’d come (and jealousy, knowing that you had been two days with your lover).. and then relief, pure relief and joy after the night fell, upon seeing you turn the corner, hand-in-hand with your best friend. after that, I can only remember warmth and fuzziness from a belly full of food, illumination by the brightness of the perfect rows of your white teeth, happiness from knowing I was the cause of the melodic sound of your boisterous laughter amid pie and candy, and lightheadedness from the world spinning due to breathtaking love and bitter ales.

and, most importantly, I treasure the feeling of the softness of your hands (now just a passing memory, it is), the tips of your fingers sticky with crumbles and vestiges of lemon pie and meringue, as they tenderly pressed against my cheeks, crushing the cookies inside my mouth. as we locked eyes in laughter just before a sweet farewell hug, I remember the comfort of your touch, tingling in my skin – I was blushing furiously! -, how your irises shone… and holding my own hands behind my back in order not to grab you and kiss you right there in the middle of the street.

feast of the heart


I know that, in 2016,
I promised I would
write less about love
and more about other things,
would suffer different pains,
have other moods, fly other winds,

but an image won’t leave my head:
how good would
my tan arms look
against your alabaster skin?