By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

PAIN is a dance in the bottomless pit of desire. There, in the abyss, the darkness becomes the music. It is where ghosts are roused from their sleep, take your hand to the dance floor and whirl your body in the air, unmindful of danger, surrendering to all vulnerability, and embracing the possibility of death.

 

Your face

Who is with you now, I wonder

I wonder, who stares at you,

sleeping, touching your face

gently, between her hands,

wondering, what a fine art

you are, almost afraid to touch

a divine sculpture

afraid to dent with her fingers

the delicate, translucent alabaster

from heaven’s gate?

 

Am I to believe, there is no one else

in your heart, in your thoughts

but my face, an ordinary face

still being perfected by the experience

of you, by whose breath I breathe

by whose touch, I become?

 

I wonder if, in your dreams

If, in your daydreams

you think of me, looking

as I look at you, with closed eyes

the possibility of us, meeting

face to face, drawn closer

burning, each other’s lips?

 

Forgiveness

If you come to me, again

I would open the door

take the flowers from your hands

and lick the blood from your finger

pricked by the thorns

till all the pain is sucked away

with the blood that still runs

from a deep stab, in your memory

 

I would like to go out with you

and show you the wildflowers

reaching out to the sun

in the morning, creating potions

for the bees, emitting essences

carried by the soft breeze

to a place we have known,

one summer night, a time when

we have reached the highest peak

of the yellow moon

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