hiroportamiindietro

3.8.07

NOT TANGLED ENOUGH

so my chest
it was a field you rested upon
where you slumbered light and drifting,
you listened to the earth underneath
the rousing plates and the tremors,
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my hands
they never left yours
and you brought them to your lips
like fragile glass,
held them like precious jewels,
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my neck
you slowly explored,
a shadowed forest, hidden trails
leading to places we cannot yet go to
will you remember the way?
when it is time, the whispers will lead you back.
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my back
you traced with your fingertips,
you made them glide like they skated on ice,
this cold curvature, this arched valley
heated with your soft touch.
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my lips
they were your slaves
servants to your own, they followed your bidding
biting, nipping, softly drawing
me into you and you into me,
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my thighs
you held them closer, pressed me harder
and i could feel everything that you are

but there's always this space

we cannot conquer
no matter how tight we coil ourselves
dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

so my heart
and your heart
our souls naked and our love revealed,
our words, thoughts and actions,
our bodies entwined,
yet not tangled enough.
no, not nearly enough.

dark, bitter chocolate and milk.

cris garing.

22.7.07

16.30

It's 16.30 The need to sleep is like the winter wind come crashing against bare skin. My eyes are fluttering ,my head a bag of snow my arms heavy irons banging against my laptop tired as i am, whirring and muttering like an old fool unable to shut up.

close your mouth. close your mouth. close your mouth. shut your eyes.

A million things running in my head. Things to do tonight. Things to do tomorrow. Things to do over the weekend. Things i could have done during the day if the hours stretched beyond 24 and I didn't feel the need to sleep like the flash of heat come burning through my head a supernova exploding my arms dirty reminders of things i could create instead let loose and wasted in the wind tired as i am, of drying tears and realizing it isn't winter and wishing it wasn't only 16.30.

and so i took my camera. and i shot.

going through the house, it took seconds to realize which things i would take photos of. they had voices and they were calling out to me.

MINDSTAINS

TOUCH

ordinary things can represent so much more, and getting caught up in the profundity of the ordinary, my thoughts seemed to follow some sort of unknown order.

i remember this poem i wrote years ago...

the words,
they spill over
these infected words
that fill my mind.
they attach themselves
to faces and images
rubber stamps of memory and dreams
leaving marks
harder to trace
much harder to erase
than the footprints
from my
mud-browned shoes.