51 292
The Lover
51
godly women and well
known whores, gentle ones
and fiery, vindictive ones,
chatterboxes, quiet ones,
amorous ones, the naïve
and the downright criminal.
Eugen the monk, nearly
asleep in the shade, felt
in the distance the misty
breath of a beloved to be. It
was a vibration wetting the
air around his ears, a slight
pulse of begging blood.
And in this gentle breeze,
from within the narrow
passageways of arteries and
cartilage, his entire, lifeless
population would awaken.
Billions of invisible beings
went to war, the meek and
the brave, as one army, like
a river of fire.
Eugen was leaning on the
chair’s long back, with his
chin to a shoulder, but his
real life was gushing like a
swollen tongue among jars
of honey, next to potted
daisies, among colorful
sleeves under the insatiable,
summer sun. He was like a
starved reptile, like a hot
chocolate sperm whale
in a crazy dash, among
the mindless heads in the
Flower Market.
And this passive man’s
desire, strong and swift,
could penetrate all human
flesh.
When the desire reached
the rising mist of the chosen
woman, the small market
shuddered discreetly, while
the distant rustling of
crimped linens was heard
under flowerpots.
Eugen’s
desire
would
break through, melting
the flowers and withering
the buds of the innocent