The day after that unexpected night,
\nTrees were set to scatter blossoms; the sun
\nEvaporated all our camouflage:
\nWe were no longer friends, but lovers.<\/p>\n
I felt I could splash through petals: At last\u2014
\nLike spoons sliding together\u2014we\u2019d coupled!
\nBut you, nervous, seemed a storehouse of ice:
\nYou murmured \u201cGoodbye\u201d with distasteful haste.<\/p>\n
I couldn’t. I begged you for a pleasing
\nFarewell\u2014perhaps to make love one last time,
\nSo I could nurse a pious memory.<\/p>\n
Then, blossoms showed the insolence of sparks,
\nAnd, as dusk came, you came to bed again,
\nYielding: I dreamt I was conquering snow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In Copenhagen, as we dished breakfast,
\nYou recalled deceased love, a French poet
\nNow dead, who loved his son, but let you starve
\nAnd freeze, when you took to France, seeking love.
\nYou recited this grim, Grimm-like story,
\nAs we gorged, forging our bellies’ surfeit.
\nHot-blooded and fleshed out Satisfaction<\/i>
\nKilled off the French poet’s skeletal chill.<\/p>\n
Gratified by our feast, we took to bed,
\nAnd you were warm and wet and as fulfilled
\nAs a Danish, similarly creamy
\nAs it is finished, so nourishingly.<\/p>\n
I’m glad that these sonnets can’t sate hunger
\nOr heat rooms. This poet makes love, not his poems.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My love poems must leap ahead seven hours
\nTo reach you where you sleep, where April\u2019s flowers
\nWill bloom seven hours earlier than here.
\nI wait for slow eons to disappear,
\nSo we can date and mate, in timely ways
\nThat elongate until they are timeless.
\nBut, first, I write. I compose\u2014while you sleep\u2014
\nA sonnet worth reading while starlings peep,<\/p>\n
And I\u2019m sleeping, reaping dreams\u2014our harvest
\nOf Absence<\/i>, that abyss manifest,
\nA nothingness, pure mist, where each is ghost\u2014
\nSexless, or a wraith\u2014isolate and lost.
\nThose seven hours splitting us must even
\nTo fiesta, what flits home to heaven.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Often our bodies speak the same language
\nwhich you then express so gloriously in poetry
\nre-evoking the exuberant joy of our experience.
\nYet sometimes, my Luca Xifonia, your golden mouth
\npraises me so lavishingly and elaborately
\nthat my soul, used to a much simpler speech,
\nwonders where its mate has hidden himself.
\nShe reaches her hand like the moon its
\nsilver bridge across the ocean to find the casket
\nwherein your heart is locked and where
\nis its key.<\/p>\n
\u2014Sonia Fuentes<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
How can I go-around our love?
\nOur odyssey flouts Mystery<\/i>:
\nEach stage is no final remove;
\nEach move we make moves by degree.
\nThe architect of our voyage
\nDesigned also orange-black Monarchs,
\nWhose migration\u2019s eternal age
\nIs our desire, as each flight arcs
\nFrom separation to conjunction\u2014
\nOr safekeeping, the church of Bliss<\/i>,
\nWhere lovers meet one compunction,
\nGreet, and kiss like evangelists.
\nSimpatico<\/i> is it, to arrive,
\nHome, to Love<\/i>, wherever you live.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Once Love<\/i> surfaces, two faces form one
\nFoundation, surfing upon each other,
\nAnd two-backed Sex<\/i> secures formal beauty,
\nWhile struggling tongues, twinning, chat and back-chat.
\nPerfumed phantasm of fluttering voice,
\nIn our jiggling, giggling, wriggling darkness,
\nWarren of red wine and groans, we mingle
\nLike musical notes, jazzy and soulful.
\nFace it! We’re as captive as harmonies\u2014
\nOr integrated drunkenness of dark rum
\nAnd white rum…. Chuckles skim the surface
\nOf our moaning friction (not facetious).
\nAfter parching speech, we take wet desserts,
\nFacing our most succulent intercourse.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My valentines are irrelevant if
\nOnly wisped air trembles my flesh and clothes;
\nNor do I dream domum dulce domum<\/i>*:
\nWithout her, this world feels enduring cold.
\nI keep a clear, catastrophic diary,
\nBit by bit pure, the pages gone vacant:
\nWhat can I write, if not her rapturous
\nNakedness, vital nakedness, what Love<\/i> bares?
\nHer sassiest lipstick is my tongue\u2014
\nAnd my pen is sterile if it is mute.
\nAbsent her, sobs catch, thorny, in my throat.
\nWhy fetch sweet meats; carry in cold wine?
\nAll is Error<\/i> if she\u2019s not here. Sans elle<\/i>,
\nThere\u2019s no reality that isn\u2019t dream<\/p>\n
*<\/span><\/sup> Latin: Home, sweet home<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Yes \/ No \/ Yes The day after that unexpected night, Trees were set to scatter blossoms; the sun Evaporated all our camouflage: We were no longer friends, but lovers. I felt I could splash through petals: At last\u2014 Like spoons sliding together\u2014we\u2019d coupled! But you, nervous, seemed a storehouse […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1709,"parent":229,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-667","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/667","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=667"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/667\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1623,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/667\/revisions\/1623"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/229"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1709"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue16\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=667"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}