I watch your perfect body,
like a perfect bird of prey,
from above the bed we share
for this time with no measure,
and the unblinking stare
spreads with a purpose
over the landscape of you,
as if moving with the wind
through hills and hidden streams,
through veiled glitter and shadows,
eyes never open, never fully shut.
Like flying from remote places,
I see, in renewed wonder,
hands stretching from nowhere
to hold and pull your naked waist
in a gesture without an author,
focused fingers drawing
the limits of your sensitive shape,
surfacing, not touching
but the sounds they raise,
not from the throat but within,
from breath itself,
showing, faster and faster,
the quickening of time.
Hands become the countless wings
that fly over my house, at dusk,
just to unfaithfully return,
and hands look for new places,
places to caress and hide
and the mouth plunges slow,
under a sharp, timeless stare
that remains where it was,
not united, detached and free.
And the fierce distance,
that still seeks belonging,
shows the pleasure, so different from us,
in sounds and brisk moves,
in stillness and spasms,
close to death, sister of fire,
till the eyes, blind at last,
concentrate, fly no more,
expand with no centre.
Inside you, my wings will spread.
I’ll be the swan that Zeus forgot,
you, the mist the land blows.
I’ll be lightning and thunder
you, the princess who charms the birds.
Together, then, before quietening the breath,
we shall be no more.

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