IN A PERISTYLE

If you felt the fires of love, mule-driver,
You would make more haste to see Venus.
I love a charming boy, so I beg you, goad on the mules; let's go.
You have had a drink, so let's go. Take up the reins and shake them.
Take me to Pompeii where loves is sweet.

Inscribed in the peristyle courtyard of House IX.v.ii. Pompeii.
House of Poppaeus Sabinus

TRIAL AT MÜNCHEN

Standing still, staring ahead.
White tiles, neutral light.
However, I knew all the time.
the translucent glass and the projected shadow;
the obvious movements, transparent soul.
Surreptitious, but hide we cannot.

I confess: I peeked, I wondered.
Old ways and old desires persist.
I really had to know.

- a witch trial, I must say-

Once I knew, I conquered;
Will and needs converged, old ways faded.
And smiling and proud, I left.

You, you, you.
No doubt, you.

RANDOM, EXPECTED ENCOUNTER

Lingering -again.
Like your perfume on my cheeks,
After that ambiguous kiss.
Or the cigarette's smell on my hair
-the sour aftertaste, the bad breath-
left by a long night:
too much drinking and laughter.

A weak balance,
… dubious.

IN ONE OF THESE BATTLES

In one of these battles -I said-,
in one of these battles
I wont' be able to restrain myself;
I won't, and I will penetrate those barriers,
breaking at will your inner protections,
conquering the final gate, the citadel:
your body and your soul.

The final battle won't be a total defeat, though.
I will fall, myself, on the field.
I will give up my shield, my helmet, my armour.
Even my sword will be surrendered to you.

We will lay down, together, on the battlefield.

HAIKU III: FLIP A COIN

The glint and the sun,
toss and flip: quantum effect.
Everything is said.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Shakespeare Sonnet No.18

THE CASTLE

The castle,
I will attack
at midnight.

Deviously,
by treason,
with despair.

I'll conquer you.
And I'll be yours.

LET'S BE

Let me be your sandals,
so you won't walk
barefeet on the hard rock.
Or the green grass,
wet in the morning before dawn,
so you can be free,
in close contact with Mother Earth.

Let me be that point,
a link between you past
-remembered with nostalgia and smiles-
and you future
-plenty of hopes and some fear-.
Yes, let me be your present.

Let me be your voice;
to sing you a song of joy every day.
And your eyes;
to show you new dreams to live.
Have me as your ears,
and listen the melody of the wind in the forest.

And smell the happiness
through me.....

Water,
to overwhelm your thirst.
And doing so, for a moment,
mine of you.

Be my lover;
better, my friend.

Let's be together,
a promise of a new clear day.
Let's be!

COME TO THE CRISP MORNING

Come, come.
....come to me.
Come naked, unafraid.
Without the loathed past,
just you. Come.

Left the memories.
Let them be obliterated,
deleted by the
endless possibilities
of your future.

Let me help you.
Left the dust,
remove your tunic and
take my hand.
I am leading you to the river.

In the crisp morning,
the cold water will
clean your soul;
my love will
warm it, anew.

Come, come.
I'm waiting for you,
longing for you.
For so long.
Come.

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

The tension heightens,
I must say something,
It's expected, no?

You're leaving,
I'm staying,
need some memorable words, so?

I'm not good at this,
still learning,
haven't much experience, as you know ...

arrogance aside,
fear, hope, the rest of it,
must I leave you with some words, high or low?

must I explain,
can't I refrain,
must I remain to some tradition true?

I feel I've much grown the last few months,
still growing,
and have a lot of more growing to do,

but arrogance aside,
fear, hope, the rest of it too
my growing will always be thanks to you ...

much I say more,
is it still expected,
or can I leave it to when we meet again, me and you?

1998/08/31

A. A. S.

NEXT WEEK

or
Deffered Wednesdays
(or why I stopped Wednesday's scuba diving classes)



How come that I can see you once every week,
___ As if fate, in full deliberation, set the stage.
Yet in pursuing my call I remain so meek,
___ and in self horror, retreat slowly into my cage

Class is over, another shower, a familiar pain,
___ your naked beauty, a glance away!
Emotions oscillate, once abandon, twice restrain,
___ but restrain wins, to abandon dismay.

And so, with a crushed spirit,
___ I step back, dry, and get dressed.
"See you next week," nothing in it...
___ I tell myself "it's all to the best"

Wednesday night, back home,
___ my lonesome bed silently cries.
In dry sheets, deserts I roam,
___ to your image, a mirage, my dream flies

And this dream, it is of next week,
___ my eyes closed, my fresh fire went.
And in this dream, it is you I seek,
___ in a Wednesday night, in desert tent.

Next week! Next week!
___ I have become your slave
Oh, next week! Next week"
___ when will your draw me in your wave?


1998/II/28
A. A. S.

IN ANTICIPATION

My last two days,
48 hours to be exact,
were drained by devout anticipation of tonight

My every second thought,
if I had any other thought to be exact,
was of your body, hard pressed against mine, tonight

My every muscle,
every raw fiber in me to be exact,
aches for your firm rugged tough tonight

By biggest anxiety
bigger than to speak of in exact
is how will I carry on, without you, after you leave tonight

Do you realise,
can you comprehend,
what knowing you has meant to me, beyond tonight?


1998/08/28

A. A. S.

PHONE (1997/X/04, Cambridge)

I stare at the phone,
waiting for his call.
My enemy.

He said:
"I'll give you a call".
Time passes,
I wanted it to pass,
fast, faster. I want my call.

Pick up the telephone;
hung up.
Pick up again,
__ hesitation...
____ pride.......
______ desire......
I phone.
None.
Three rings and I repent.

Again.
Fingers dancing,
playing with the buttons.
Trembling, I phone.
Four rings, and... his voice.
A recording, damn!
Hung up.

I stand up, walk, eat.
Go to the deck.
"I am happy, I am lucky,
I don't need him".
Auto-persuasion. I fail.

The phone shine,
I have polished so many time.
Caresses,
diverted to the object in between.

5:40PM.
Dial again.
Machine again.
"It's me,
give a call, ok?"
Hung up,
the heart is running away.


"He must be back, 6:10PM"
Pick up,
Push six numbers, stop.
Push three, .... one more...
hung up.

Tap, tap, tap.
"where are you,
why I wait"

I get ready.
Shower, trim the bear.
Cologne, underwear.
Wait.
Low music to hear the ring.

Ring, ring,
I run.
"A friend, go away".

"If he called meanwhile..."
Dial,
ring, ring, ring, ring;
Answer machine.

7:30PM, dinner. Alone.
Ring, ring.
I fly.
"An ex, go to hell".

Wait? no.
I beg, call, call me.
I do.
None.

I write this poem.
And call again.

IN THE TURKISH BATH

I wish he would be younger.

Dreams,
something else, I also wish.
A youth, perhaps an athlete.
In the humid fog, I dream.

Naked I was.
Had me, he could.
Offered. Naked.
Strong hands on my tense skin.
Pushed, against -for once- hot marble.
Between his flesh and the stone,
Me ... and my desire.

My legs, from toe to top
The gentle touch.
My penis, ready to go.
Just a little more.

Naked, and exposed.
Aroused, in my imagination.
How otherwise could be?
Abandoned, when he finished and left.

Excited, in need,
I hung around:
lying on the marble bench,
water, pouring: hot and cold.
At the arches, pretending to look.

You well know,
since you also search.
In the dark we do.

None. Not a look,
Or subtle touch, a small play.
Not a chance. No game.

And the mist hides,
under mythical effects,
unfulfilled dreams.
Almost I fainted.
Or was it, the hot vapor?

Looking behind, dreaming again,
I left, and wished again.

I would not know

Italian or russian,
I wouldn'd know.
So handsome ...


And yet, I'm not alone.
To talk to him,
How can I dare?

Come back

C.P. Cavafy


Come back often and take hold of me,
sensation that I love come back and take hold of me.
When the body's memory awakens
and the old longing again moves into the blood,
when lips and skin remember
and hands feel as though they touch again.
Come back often, take hold of me in the night
when lips and skin remember ...

SMELLING, BOTH

As much as I do,

Do you smell me?
My sweat, my skin.

As aroused as I am,
Are you?

Would we try?

NO WORDS

Alone, in an unknown city.
Walking along, getting the pulse.

And he passes by, and looks.
Three steps, three seconds.
And looks again.

Can it be? Such a beauty ...
Me?
So I wait. He turns. Come back.
It must be the air, the smell.
The recent storm;
the botanic garden, the fumes.
Intoxicated, that must be.

But for once this is real.
"Take me home", I said.
Afraid of his lack of English;
Afraid of his answer.

"Nearby, I live. Come".
In five minutes, both naked.
No, cannot be.
This beauty, this latin lover.
Fair versus brown, the skin.
Soft touch, gentle arms.
Fury and passion, so sudden.
And the mouth, the lips.
What a kiss, how curious his tongue!

Very short eternity.
His slim muscles relaxed;
the curves of his body, exposed.
Tenderness, after crazy sex.

Real, can it be?
Why now, why here?
So far, so short.
Just a dream.
The garden fumes, the exotic plants.
A fantasy, that must be.