At Gigino’s

It is time to love a poet,

time to turn towards myself, stop doing all the loving,

let myself be loved.

It is time to love myself.

Happiness survives for as long as it does so,

open up and trust the waters that flow will not

drown us.

My poet looked up and saw me.

She blushed in the light of what might be

and then she became liquid, all at once we filled each other up.

Now I need to know you better.

In the better knowing of you

I stand a chance to drink from our springs and

for a while now, I will not know thirst.


it will become quieter

those shouts inside your head will be becalmed

the scene absorbs amid children

daily routine

for granted is the refrain 

natural that it would calm down

comfortable we do become

life at our age, place, time.

but then the question of your face arises

the softness of your skin

the depth inside your eyes

and then

the sweetness of you compromises

any real attempt at normalizing you.

the loveliness of you

the endless fascination of your neck

before we begin to mention your smile

each kiss reminds me 

so I will silently shuffle past received wisdom

and whisper, oh yes that is true but not my dear when we are talking about this women, let me be clear: the rules do not apply to you.