Variation on sex and soul / Gocho Versolari, poet

You fall on me
in the shape of a drop
rain or dew.
It is indistinct. What matters
it is your eternal hit
at that point on my body
that burns and claims you.
My feet,
the center of my skull,
the languishing of my chest,
the second corner of my navel …
and after that drop
a piece of death,
a serenity of August branches swaying
a dream fired.
you embody yourself in my bed
so I drink you
from sex to soul
going through the feet and hands,
by the nipples wide as suns
for the groaning full of birds and timpani.
Together we will hunt for orgasm
lurking afternoons in the grasslands,
opening gaps in the blood of time,
closing deaths on the top of the hill.
Then peace will come
embodied in your skin
and in your silence.




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