Poem By Paolo Ruffilli

I think of myself
whose hand caresses
the willing body
lying open to any assault
and meanwhile listen
supine on the throbbing
of your heart
to a voice grating
and squeaking
the word
I think of myself who
quietly count your
every crevice and bump
known and unknown places,
of myself who prods
and reduces for myself
and chases and hunts
to consider earnestly
the cause
of so much desire.

Translated by Boris Peters

Comments about Desire

I think of myself! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.

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Other poems of RUFFILLI


Thus, I suddenly
catch myself in the mirror
in a stifling embrace
while I project myself


I know what I have felt
again and again
and never has it been
something abstract


And all at once
deep in the tunnel
that goes on and on,
in the dead air

Whenever I Go

Then, at last
I get moving
the urge to stay


How many times
have I left
before daybreak or
at dead of night