Stand there and undress.
I don’t want you to say anything.
Let me believe that you’ll also undress
your old body for the first time.
It’s not yet another fantasy.
Thanks to this perspective
one gives food to passions
that there be no victim.
Stand there and undress.
I don’t want you to say anything.
Let me believe that you’ll also undress
your old body for the first time.
It’s not yet another fantasy.
Thanks to this perspective
one gives food to passions
that there be no victim.
I no longer recall postures and performances.
Only certain special exclamations
I bawled for you to deliver up your soul.
As if the body wasn’t sufficient.
As if the soul lived elsewhere.
In celestial forms.
Maybe, but, well, for us it’s not enough.
This is the body.
Sometimes with yes and sometimes with no
it makes away with desires
sometimes real, sometimes false.
This is the body, need you a hint.
An angelic-faced murderer .
Then go on living without remorse.
All ages advertise grandeurs.
This is the drama.
We take grandeurs seriously
and with a wave of the hand we repulse faits accomplis
to stand time and any other extremity
Humanity is not something else.
It literally is a mournful gesture.
All then seems bearable.
Everyone is always so created, to hope.
And they keep on waving their hands frantically.
That unexplored shiver in the body
had a taste of metaphysics, a voice insists.
Unless, of course, it had nothing to betray.
In conclusion, pleasure, you are a long story.
Who doesn’t realize that with a few caresses
every little soul aimlessly trembles.
In your look the sunset
becomes a mirror.
In a matter of seconds
sky and illusion will crack.
Under strain I count the moments
and weigh up the inexplicable feeling.
Unrepentant am I. I know, because, look,
I can understand seduction
only as a lucky find in time.
But I can’t make any sense of it
because it in turn
favours the shortest conclusion.
It ends in an inconceivable beauty.
Unrepentant like me.
A beauty of familiar traits.
How else could I possibly admire it,
A vast breadth is necessity.
An unlimited length is desire.
An inaccessible height is imagination.
I am making a lively description of you and me
and I incite you in sign language
in a three-dimensional language for us to get undressed.
Or rather strip naked.
You see, in our despair we forgot the depth.
The one I wanted to have. For you to have.
Hot flesh day and night
not only can it stand digital findings.
Not even for a joke will it wholeheartedly
confine itself for long in its own skin.
Nice talking
but its only cold logic.
We are strange beings.
The ample mind is unexpectedly planned.
Secret like those nasty words
to the first person you encounter in the street:
I want you tragically.
What a comedy!
In particular with unfamiliar bodies
in every get together of sorts
finding a straight life.
Everything can be presumed.
Even your coming back to me.
Suffice that I wait forever.
The mistake in similar situations
is not pure faith in time.
It’s very difficult for you to convince your ego
that nothing has changed.
That’s why it’d be a folly for you to come back.
Things have changed now, and so are we.
And redemption is not so much a loud return
but something all the more of a mute escape.
I’ll laugh. So everything is subject to presumptions.
Even I to forget you.
There’s no way I can live without you.
Although all the others seem enough
at heart you keep on flourishing.
Or is there something else happening?
You see, we are convinced
that we have a nobler life
when it echoes the tokens of another.