I
You come with all the deaths that I fear
I jump for your whole life
Going down the panic of the air
I search your wings besides a pavement for my flying corpse
You bring the ants crawling on my chest
Crying, I watch your creatures
Raising their young up to my body
Building their houses in the diligence of invaders
And secretly talking about what has to be demolished
Beneath this deep brownness
II
You come with scoundrel friends
You throw your last perfection
To their hybrid rats
Not thinking about your maternity
And our children that are yet to be born
You come with my grandfather, father and sister
Those whose prayers were let down
Just before the heavens
You incite a rural species
From dust to dust
To shut their doors in my face
So that I would go up to you alone
To the fire that is you
Where you laugh over there
With semi-kindness on your back
III
Early on, I die on your hands
I lose all the endings
That I secretly prepared for myself
All that I planned for
Is no longer possible:
– Suicide with expired pills
In front of the ballet dancer’s painting
– Drowning under the sight of naked wives
Around the summer pool
While they exchange the benefits of quick affairs
As a secret stimulant to put up with husbands
– Testing the slowness of death by narcotics
And watching the delirium that wastes the family tree
Before I touch eternity
– Sleeping with the desire of not having another morning
For it did not bring you to crave “Nescafe”
– Falling from a balcony
With a view on expatriate single ladies
That wash their underwear
Three times a week
– Sudden heart attack
Where there is not time to regret the will
IV
I am the one-hour man
The pleasing of hearts in sixty minutes
The margin where you try the desires
While you look for a light brownness
Outside the house
I am the kind man
That should have come one day
Naïve enough
Carrying to you my mother’s drawers
Of bread, butter oil, and bracelets
Believing the Gypsies’ prophecy
When they said: Your soul is on a journey
So, cross for it two continents
And take it with the power of the delayed
V
I am your retaliation from all the men
Who had punished you with small promises
That does not befit half of your soul
Kill me then
Reclaim your childhood
From the lamblike yammering of wolves
And smile in retrospect
VI
I love you as you are, a vampire
Poets follow you with their necks
As you choose the lucky ones
Three times a day
And with the venomous kiss
That summarizes your talents
They realize the nature of their destinies
And the game that drained their blood
On the ground
And for a certain wisdom
Sacrifices for love come successively
And the beginning repeats tirelessly
VII
Tell me, what will history say about us?
The history will say about us:
Two losers who failed in the first line of their book
They died with two kisses on the neck
Before they dance to the madness of “Zorba”
And taste the blessings that I hid for them
Behind my back
Two losers who did not repeatedly scream in pleasure
Behind sound-proof glass
They left life without trying
The bed honey while blindfolded
And discover what the sight limits
In the imagination of the senses
VIII
History could have not repeated itself
And made amends for its emotional crimes
In the “Mother Books”
It was possible for it, with more than two kisses
And a music video
Maybe with some triviality
And lots and lots of classicalism in love,
To remove its dress and white beard
And write: Now I am born again
IX
Early on, you come with a cruelty that I do not deserve
Your scorpions lick my ear slowly
And the shiver is deep to the point of helplessness
While you happily reproduce
Two steps away
You mock the endings of poets
And the myths in their long fingers
And with one kiss on their necks
They die
