you are seated
fronting me
beside me is my
wife sipping her
cappuccino
i look at you closely
you are beautiful as usual
long black hair
and soft fingers caressing each lock
an old night
and french music playing inside
an italian resto-cafe
i guess life is like that
an instance when one cannot do anything
except to gaze
my wife says
the cappuccino tastes much better in this cozy place
and you look at me
as though i am one kind of fire burning and burning
and you are fire too
and the whole place is burning too
outside the rain is heavy
and some cars are stopping on a traffic jam
a girl wearing blue jeans
gets inside the restobar and she is wet all over
here it is
this fire burning and burning still
water from her breast
drips and the floor is wet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem