I henna-tattoo hearts on the walls of your coffee-republic tomorrows...
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I sunbathe my toes on the verandah of your conscience, chewing coffee beans and scribbling lazy sonnets about the bite marks I’ve left on the inner side of your right thigh. I fold them in four, address to Neverland, seal with a kiss of Sumatra and tuck them neatly under your lashes for her to dream of when she falls asleep next to you. I peel tangerines and watch her head spin with the ancient Samodiva spells I’ve sung in your curls while the sunrise crawled between the branches, up the laundry line three time zones away. A sheet of my Petrarchan diary still in her clenched fist, she burns her tongue on the taste of my name on your lips and shivers with memories of all frigid Christmases on the Balkans I’ve told you fairy tales of. My toes pleasantly warm, I henna-tattoo hearts on the walls of your coffee-republic tomorrows while she chokes on the sweetness of sleepy good morning kisses you’ve tickled my breasts with. Beyond a horizon stained with adultery the sun drips guilt as I collect my iambic recipes for love eternal and throw spices and dry leaves over her pillow so that in jealous insomnia she suffocates thinking of me. |