Modern Love Xxxviii (Hibiscus' Of Rome) Poem by Liberatore Suffoletta

Walk towards the Coliseum
Without passing an ancient ruin
Follow Via Sistina, cross in front
Of Santa Maria Maggiore, by San Pietro
In Vincoli, come to via del Colosseo
Somber gigantic Coliseum, gaping apertures
pouring the long, pale light of a lonely moon
Mysterious southern moon, phantasm of twilight
Pointing to hungry Lion’s Den,
loggia of brave gladiators,
podium of the Caesars,
ascend a half-dilapidated staircase of stone
where the hibiscus
of flowering wombs
of red hearts
dwells


hibiscus’ red womb lips, open, each dawn
revealing throats of erect pink pistils’
with crowns of ochre thorns
(I am falling for a hibiscus,
For a lost seagull
For two pools of ochre revealing a soul
For soft hands which hold my mind
For a smile of endless dawns
For words, your words
I am falling for your words
of eternal promises of endless
Impermanence
A man, dreaming, awakened
by morning’s fecund dew
in your hibiscus’ womb
from a life of sleep)
Sad sparrows flutter, beak at crown of thorns
Pulling out of pistils’ head
Drops of orange blood on dark chests
Creating robins who take wing
creating a magenta sunrise
in tear filled clouds
above manhattan island
what sad joy to have everything
the way the hibiscus wants
taking my heart to the sky
giving me verses of other poems
and the odor of red,
love that scent,
of red petals creating
distant melancholy fields
where every gesture
bleeds to the sky
like a lonely heart
the hibiscus seeds flowers
in late afternoon and sighs,
creating possibilities of evening stars
in its tragic romantic acceptance
of solitude
what sad joy, to be like a hibiscus
full of red sadness,
saluting other flowers
(like Lancelot,
a romantic hero
in an earthly tomb)
which give her birth
and courage
showing her erect pistils’
her crown of thorns
her bleeding womb
What sad joy, each twilight evening
When the red petals of hibiscus’ womb
dance a wonder full closure
Silently sealing red lips,
Red hearts,
Plum mouths
green arms


someday, as a red womb
my soul shall, also,
close its redness
to singing parrots
on late afternoons
while a blue, serene sky
peals in joy
as this morning is pealing
in the red hibiscus' wombs

Someday,
all those who love
red hibiscus’ wombs,
shall close, also,
And all their dreams
shall be reborn
again,
as the red wombs of the hibiscus
are reborn each morning
in a daily ritual
of silent pain of blood
Someday,
my spirit will become
nostalgic
finally closing
like a hibiscus’ red flower
and be alone,
secure,
with no being,
no green leaves,
no blue sky,
no plum mouth,
no sad arms,
no red lips,
no red pistil
with ochre crown of thorns,
Then, my spirit shall dance
among shimmering quiet stars
seeking your brown eyes,
as all the hibiscus’s red wombs
remain, dancing,
singing the sad joy
of
coming and going
and discovery
.
Walk towards
somber Coliseum,
pale light of a lonely moon
trapped in endless twilights
of dawn and dusk
brave dwelling
of flowering red hearts
of you
of me
of us