Spoglie 5

how ivy grows in my heart.

Your pose goes back to the brim
where at a corner draws in the profile
the dogma of the unsuccessful desire:
the eternal spoliation of the rose o
the touch that touches your naked intimacy
or just above lace and thong
with the short taste of surrender.
This is perhaps the meaning that saves
from a hatred that ignores and changes the subject
in the ash that gravitates lightly
on things, relics. At a rustle
stay motionless in your breath. It is obsessed
the fairy tale that enchanted you unharmed.
poetry by Giuseppe Di Bella