1
Pain, palliative-resistant.

I want to write a poem
in all its imperfections, Inamorato...

You slide your tongue
over the navel of your girl
with the violet scent…

I hold my suffering
like a cup of rain

or a jar of fireflies, aflame

2
New moon--

I search for my turquoise
in the violet of the sky

I am jealous
of the harmonica
touching your lips

and envy every girl
taken by you
© Jagari