Portrait of a Lady on Fire


My hands.
steep and dark,
In solitude,
the charms of exile.
must yield to the cheek,

Uncover your throat.
and study its cartilage closely,
In deep silence,
Some feelings are deep.
the first time I wanted to kiss you.

Your eyes are closing.
My marriage.
Arch your back a little.
Her poor hands
hanging on the wall.

you bite your lips.
Then the storm breaks.
The Benedictines.
they took a sloping path,
to infinity.

When you asked if I had known love.
unravel the thread
and then it vanishes.
You can float.
Yes. A little.

Say what burdens your heart.
Its tone, even in light,
She said it makes time last longer.
of a warm and transparent hue,

Your presence is made up
With lightning and the wind.
I saw her broken body below.
except for the hole,
I’ve dreamt of that for years.

Organ music is pretty but bleak.
for drawing in my notebooks’ margins.
Here, they seem to be saying goodbye.
Head straight up to the trees.
even if covered with hair.

won over by his words.
The outline.
Deep breaths.
See how my arms are placed.
It’s all I know.

for fear of losing her.
Dying a second time,
Not everything is fleeting.
The cherrystones hold it in.


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