the regained splendour of summer: her skirt of fire (2)

i remember.
carefully balancing her forty kilos
in the palm of my hand,
i remember thinking what they had taught me to think.
she needs help.

i remember us facing each other.
i, queenly seated in my warm flesh
sending my snails out into the mouth of things,
their silvery tents glued to each fragrance,
each darkening juice of this world.

my soul, the hungry tide of my body.

she, for whom even a cloud
speaks too loudly of being.
she, condemned to the silence of matter,
attached by her shadow to heaviness.

i remember the day too,
the day when i understood.
i saw the light becoming breath
on the verge of your skin.
i whispered the song of the skirt
on your thighs of air,
the pale indian silk rustling
deep into your disappearing bones.

your body, the fading memory
of your soul.