Summer

In summer the whole city is full of angels

as if there’s a nest of them nearby.

They materialise in the warmth of the sun

and mix themselves among the mortals.

They don’t wear their long, chaste dresses

of Christmas times but

from under their mini skirts

they show their long, brown legs

and under their colorful little tops

their bare breasts

unveiling their sexy naves.

Eagerly they try to attract

men of flesh and blood

longing for the feeling

of the arduous fires of human love

burning heavenly and

flying lovers to the paradise

that they never felt.

Afterwards you never know

whether she was a girl or an angel

because many of them

addicted to love

ask succesfully for asylum

all over the world

or stay for a hot winter.

Sparks

May we gather our sparks

and throw them in our fire

of communication.

May there be a chained reaction

discovering all our hidden sparks.

May our angels meet,

exchanging whispering

our secret thoughts.

May the birds of our souls

descend in our dreams

explaining our deepest wishes

so that tomorrow

we will recognize them

in the mirrors of our eyes.

May out of the ashes

a fleet of multicolored butterflies

separate the waves of defense

of the ocean of time

concreted in our muscles

and the trembling of our hands

reaching to our forlorn halves

from centuries ago.

Butterflies

Before

he was lost

in her eyes

he became aware

of a pink rose

just between

her slopy dunes.

Thousands of butterflies

instantly

began to hover

just under his

now too small cover.

Only a moment later

after the first opened buttons

of her decent summercotton

she whispered in his ear

“Just follow the roses,

you are very near.”

His path was strewn

with countless roses

off and on he found a spot

that no rose had got.

Once laid on her flowerbed

with only flowers in his head

overwhelmed by

her rosy flagrance

he released

all his butterflies.

With every

rosy whirl

they sang a lovesong

for that delicious

flowergirl. </

Once upon a time

A tragic, lonely clown

met in his mind

a lonely, naked nymph, who loved him forever.

He wanted so strongly

that it should be true

that he changed dreams for reality.

He heard her

playing erotic tunes

and dreamed ecstatic nights together.

He thought to love somebody

did not see she had no body

that the wife in his mind was nobody.

Awakening on earth

he thanked the nymph

for the happy dream

and never forgot it, really!

Mirroring

Only dreams did warm

the fibers of my soul

till glassy

smokey floods

were gliding

on my beach

covering my feet.

In the salty mirror

one hand

was snatching phantoms

roaming

in the shivering mist.

The other one

was holding tenderly

a small ladies’ wrist

making together

a quivering fist.

Frightened

I closed my eyes

looked secretly

through my chinks

to the revealing

mirroring.

Signals

Let us go to the blue lagoon

where the water mirrors in your eyes

and the tedious sable resists our strokes.

And when there shall be only

two pairs of staring eyes left

white doves will fly around

with little letters in their beaks

with our signals of love.

Marks of Kisses and Tears

After so many

sweet and salt senses

I scraped signals

on white sheets.

Every rear or trembling

of brains and body

I wanted

to take, to break, to bless

to damn.

Against the mindless

flood of thoughts

I wanted

to throw up

a dike.

The blowing up dust

by galloping horses

may not fade out

the sparks of her eyes.

The rustling of your skin

may not evaporate

in the wind

of dawn.

The ever again rising tide

may not efface

the salt and sweet

marks of kisses and tears.

Leaning against the storm

Like a tree

I want

to count my rings

women and children first.