Suitecase Suite #16

My clay body

Holds the memory 

And the sensation 

Of your touch.

Even if 

You left

Me, 

Our fingerprints

Will stay 
Embraced

Forever 

On the surface

Of the gifts

We have 

Exchanged.

Suitecase Suite #15

I am a broken vessel 

that can not 

hold

the water of

your 

e

m

o

t

i

o

n

s

.

I am a bird of clay

without wings

without voice.

Your sound 
awakens

vice.

Black 

is the cloud

that envelopes me.

Cold is the air I breathe.

I am a broken vessel 

that can not 

hold

the depth of

your 

e

m

o

t

i

o

n

s

Tu m'

Suitcase Suite #14

Kitchen, stove, table, bed, sink, shower...

Life dances around them

peacefully

while

elsewhere,

people scream and shout and fight.

In protest

of

change that 

sweeps away

a life style.

And 

I,

who live

here, 

in a peaceful bubble,

am saving

perfume bottles

and

scraps of lace

that may be used 

for
elegant explosives,

should 

necessity strike.

Suitcase Suite: #12

We've conquered the air

or

has the air conquered us?

I jump on a plane

and

I rush to see you,

kiss the lips

that produce

this voice

I love so much,

see the eyes

I like to see

my reflection on,

touch the fingers

I love to hide

in the most secret

crevices

of my body.

Suitcase Suite: #11

He sailed away

then sailed back

then sailed away again...

He comes and goes

with the tide,

he brings with him

a wave of "soedad".

We meet and say hello

then

goodbye

till we meet again

and

in between

the time

fills

with

voices.

His voice

My voice

 turn into thin air.

Air that moves

the sails

of our ships

keeping us going

untill we meet again

Suitcase Suite: #10

I walked by

 the
sea

growing

moment

after
moment

with the 

anticipation

of becoming
a

woman.

A woman ready to fly

far 

and

away

with the wings of

desire

with the wings of

passion

with the wings of

knowledge.

Suitcase Suite: #9

He took me 

by the hand

as I was holding my two balloons.

I followed him

into the freshness

of his room.

There he ran his fingers

over

my arm

my chest

my foot

my belly

my whole body

that broke 

into 

pieces

like a Cycladic idol

found in the sand.

Suitcase Suite: #8

I hide behind 

the mask of 

another language,

an assumed identity,

I pretend to be

I pretend to breath

I pretend to bring 

the food on the

table

my body on the fresh

sheets

my face in front of

the cold morning mirror.

Merriment

is 

no

longer

a pleasure

when it has become

carnevale perpetuo. 

Suitcase Suite: #7

My little Red Riding Hood

the big bad wolf

devoured you.

He sank his teeth

into 

your tender flesh,

your little cries

he thought

were cries of pleasure,

you tasted so good

he enjoyed

every 

little

bite

of 

your young

unripe body.

And you,

who

always wanted

to run away

with

the 

wolves,

you

pulled 

the hair

of his back

and let out a cry,

a laughter, a sigh of 

relief.

NO MORE GRANDMOTHERS,

PICNIC BASKETS

AND TRIPS INTO THE WOODS.

You are finally

FREE

Suitcase Suite: #6

We consume our love

on beds, 

chairs,

around tables

in shady rooms,

in public spaces,

we dip our fingers

in

the succulent juices

of lovemaking

and 

wash our minds

with the juices

of

the ripe 

autumnal grapes.

Life is a feast.

Drink the wine.

Bite the flesh

and

pull 

the tablecloth

behind you. 

Suitcase Suite: #5

Eternal woman

with her gestures,

her smiles,

her desiring glances.

She passes 

in front 

of 

him

smiling

a red smile.

Then turns away 

pretending 

she 

does not

care.

She leaves behind

the sweetness

of her 

perfume,

a promise,

an invitation

for 

future

encounters,

for long evenings

around

tables

chairs

and beds.

Suitcase Suite: #4

Sometimes I want to be left alone

in a dark room,

all alone

to hide

like a hermit crab

into the shell

of my

thoughts

to 

escape

in virtual visits

to 

other lands

visiting

with beloved ones

or 

just left there

alone

on a bed

looking 

at 

the flight of a fly.

Wall, ceiling, wall...

Time flies

and

flies time themselves

with 

my need

to be

alone.

Suitcase Suite: #3

We plunge 

into

the wine colored sea

 of nostalgia.

Some barefoot, some naked,

with our heads shaved

our teeth gaped and missing

We are growing children

ever changing

like snakes 

who shed

their skins.

Our childhood

now

a fist full of

milk teeth

white and dry,

remind us

of the days

the world was 

a long voyage

to uncharted territory...

"Are we there, yet?"