by Teresa Areces
whisper to it in the clear sky, its bright light
burning swan-like
across your cheek. Hands soft as snowflakes,
trying to sew the distance that separates truth
from unrestrained desire. The moon
is silver, the night dear to me. It is the way it
drops that makes its beauty so disquieting.
Relentless, aromatic, glittering.
Falling upon us like a painted naiad.
There is nothing I can do
to keep this moment
from slipping between my fingers
like this tenderness is dust. The dark pulses
away from it, the three of us
free as street dogs, and just as wild. Only time separates us
from cinematic denouement. It trickles, torturous,
about us. Our liquid confessions
dissolve it, magnetic eyes hanging expectant
in the smoky air. We become the winds tumbling,
toppling
falling on top
of each other for their sliver of paradise.
My skin your torch, caught in between your
tongues and you’re both mine.
щастие мое, echoes the dark.
We looked for the storm
and let it kill us—
Limbs tangled in the dark, hands tracing curves
softened by the dancing shadows.
We only exist on the verge
of disappearing, to leave our hearts here
& return home empty handed.
Years from now, if you
come back, you will still not find me.
Look for my name a hazy apparition.
In the little dark room,
capturing the exact moment you turned to me
and smiled.
Teresa Areces is studying both biotechnology and philosophy. But really, what she is is a swelling poet, and little more. She began writing poetry a few years ago, and has no publication history. Among the things she loves are cinema, silence and sunny meadows.
Emerge Literary Journal 