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in these quiet small hours of the night
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When I came close
and climbed on top of you;
when I pressed myself deeply
into you, our lips, almost touching…
your face held the same expression
of an infant as he saw the lowering
of a milk bottle. Hunger; excitement;
and also fear, as if the hand that held
the bottle would suddenly disappear.
That was the moment I saw
you, at your most beautiful,
lying beneath me, soft eyes
under the moonlight. A soul
who surrenders himself
to be satiated by another
is so easy and impossible to hurt.
and suddenly, in the familiar colors
of this nightfall, I remembered
your wine-stained lips,
our stolen kiss.
my hand,
a few inches above your shoulder, a gesture,
a hesitation, a tired bird looking for a nest.
How infinitely close the Earth is to her beloved Sun.
How infinitely far you are to my uncertain touch.
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There are tiny tattoos
on my body
that no one has
discovered yet.
Come over here,
my brave Columbus.
Some days, the hollow
of my right collarbone misses
the beat of your heart so much.
Remember that night we sat on your doorsteps
talking after the party. Your hair was longer
back then; I had wine stains on my sundress.
You said it felt good to be here, and I
laid my head on your shoulder. Remember
we were laughing. Remember we laughed
so hard that even the sky chuckled,
and then the clouds parted,
and love,
raindrops, and lips
fell.
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