A message in parts

by Marina Tsvetaeva

Where does such tenderness come from,
And what do I do with it, you, sly,
Adolescent, vagabond singer,

by Pablo Neruda

All night I have slept with you

next to the sea,
on the island.
Wild and sweet
you were between
pleasure and sleep,
between fire and water.
Perhaps very late
our dreams joined

by me:

a love affair after The Book of Questions


universe. I thought our bodies deep

surface lovers  one talk

room a shadow

morning enters

beside itself


signs gathered by hands

by lips a sudden comma

a sigh   a stop   a sentence

paragraph without realizing    miles

slung from branches the spring

our measure

when mirrors

are words my flesh as



the impossibility  of this swollen room

nebulous waking

arrival departure

the unmade made of collapse

wandering kingdom of lust

ocean without roots

wet what we encounter

passion in mobility

I write his name, and it becomes the man I love

touch takes its form in words

come out as fields     innumerable      stretching


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