I’d like to look at your face in milliseconds.
I can’t trust the moments you develop and orchestrate.
Your mouth acts fast, it’s not your hands that entangle me.
You never seem tired. You metamorphose easily.
I never comprehend how I end up at the edge with you, every time.
Did I jump to get away from you or did you push me to see me fall?
The mother has marble skin.
The father’s face is burning with rage.
Everything that escapes their bodies
Will penetrate me where it hurts.
I carry it on my shoulders like a glacial sunburn.
How can something decayed still grow?
“Portrait of Lina Cavalieri” by Cesare Tallone (1853-1919)
Croque-Melpomene 