Poem By Paolo Ruffilli

It is in that remote rushing
within the heart
that everyone recognises
his proper destiny.
A dream strictly forbidden:
the idea of infinity
even quotidian
accidentally bequeathed
to the body by love.
Caught and locked up
to preserve its
taste intact,
extracted from the void
kept long but vainly
between the thighs,
like water
slipping anyway
from your hand.

Translated by Boris Peters

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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


I think of myself
whose hand caresses
the willing body
lying open to any assault