His inwardness exasperated her, his disorganization made her vent in hours-long phone calls while the listener stirred on a chicken soup – i.e., her mother living in Long Island.
But every time she heard him sliding under the duvet at night, trying not to wake her up even if he still smelled like walnuts and pecans, she knew there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.
I chase you memory every night, my love
this bottle helping me recalling
the way your lips curve nearby my skin,
the way your voice tickle my lobes,
the way your chest inflate under my hand.
And when the moon chases me,
– under the spotlight
I raise up my sight,
and her, from that distance
she can reflect it too
the love I would, every night
give to you.
You are the season that keeps me awake
The endemic smile sewn on this sun
this nippy sun
Finding myself awake from a painful sleep
of memories
bad moves
how many do we still consume together?
You are the restless conversation
the finger sliding on the brim
when my sight is halted
the eyes that are not observing
digging in a shallow
blue
You are the trip, the plane, the train
The car with no fuel
The road with no sign
You are the rainy day when my map is not plasticized
The extra charge on my dinner bill
You are the short blanket, the cat that doesn’t purr, the host with no wine
You keep me sitting at the edge of this chair
While holding my hand firmly
Like you would do with a kite
You are afraid to see fly away.
Claudia Delicato 