Variation on fire – The colossal bonfire of our bodies / Gocho Versolari, poet.


You don’t want the fire to go out
and every ten minutes
you run to the fireplace
you shake the logs,
you squeeze your right nipple
and three streams of incandescent milk
they fall on the flames
I take you by the arms
and we roll holding each other
on the carpet.
and then you moan and claim .
I tear your clothes
and suddenly you surrender. The flames
they sizzle and grow
while the distant fires
they multiply in the winter night
warming sailors and fish,
unicorns and birds,
wounds and sweetness,
swarms of locusts and elves,
multitudes of homunculi
with breasts and with vulvas.
By penetrating you
your bare feet touch me
the corners of the lips.
I kiss them as you stir
and a pack of invisible wolves
excite the fire
and burns the December snow.
Titanic combustion.
Finish the kalpa.
Just us
in this burning corner of space,
exploring twists and turns
of the colossal bonfire
of our bodies.
We control the fires:
the orphan flames of salt
and silence.



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