Spring is somehow underrated,
-I think out loud-,
as I hold onto summer
in a black bikini
with small breasts
overdose of vitamin D
and the sun beating down on my face
I question the magnificence of change
the variation in the spectrum of colors
from blues to greens yellows,
and the upcoming plane journeys
that force me to pass
from season to season
absurd timelessness.
I think of you, even on the bus,
and it doesn’t matter
which season it is.
Driven by curiosity,
emptiness, and liquid relationships,
the catalog of love,
love and marketing,
sex and marketing,
has never been my thing.
Swipe right,
swipe left,
like, dislike,
meaningless conversations
that I don’t really care;
and there you are
before or after,
there you are
Lago Como
playlists
your Italian accent
when you speak to me,
when you touch me,
your curly hair,
your tender gray hairs
timidly peeking
into the outside world.
Your unique eyes,
that have so much to say,
your expressive eyebrows
reactive to every joke,
your tender face,
shy at times
but always smiling
slightly
a particular duality,
and a beautiful contradiction.
Your hands and rings
adorning your skin,
that skin,
that color,
and though not more beautiful
than mine,
shiny, soft, and inhabitable
on hangover mornings.
Your long fingers,
slender,
piano hands
without touching the piano,
your fingers inside me,
humidity,
orgasm,
your face and the orgasm.
The sound of your music
resonates,
tingles the skin,
something embraces me,
you have something,
something connects me to you
and not to others,
not to those other names
that absurdly,
as an act of insecurity,
I clumsily mention
when I write about you,
you have something,
you ____ you and the spring
that I don’t know what it is,
that is most similar
to a magnet between two
lost souls,
two strangers,
not so strangers,
and it has me,
-though- not on my knees,
waiting for you.
Waiting for what?
There is something beautiful
in the chaos
of feeling fear,
of falling [apart, and in love]
and in the desire to
want to do it.
Like spring,
underrated.
Understanding
the fragility of time,
the passing from season
to season,
and of relationships,
and the coldness of this city
not knowing
how many more times you’ll sleep
by my side,
or if a trip to Chile and Greece
will separate us.
you turned everything upside down
and between death and pain,
the way you make me laugh
feel- reconnect
is going to stay
no matter the season
shaped in spring poems
that nobody cares about
you will stay.
