A Sip of Love

My warmest thanks to Manuela Timofte for her attention to my verses. I am honored and happy. It is as if she, wandering along the paths of her garden, notices even the smallest flower.

Gobblers & Masticadores

by Marcello Comitini

I dance like a lark in the wind. I look in the setting sun the rising of dawn the forest in the city mysterious and on the bell towers silent clouds of eagles that scrutinize my feelings. She melts all the pain in her chest and the water of a spring flows on my arms. A water that I cannot drink that invades the world with mud plunges it into horrible and torrid galaxies. I would like a sip of love to collect in the hollow of my hand and bring it to my lips to lips of my woman. Our hands tremble stained with blood that isn’t theirs. Stained because her eyes have seen and her hands have remained inert. Good at caressing her nails manicured and lacquered en pink, green and yellow like the flag of peace that flies impotent. A universal peace that no…

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