The women in my life are meteors: they enter, they shine, they disappear. A poem by the Magnifico, a confession, and writing as an antidote to death.
Meteors
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Blue Tornado: the Right Tornado at the Wrong Time
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Click to rate this post! [Total: 0 Average: 0] SUMMER 2023. I’d like to kiss her. But I haven’t washed for a week, except with seawater. I’m sweaty from dragging the huge suitcase I used on the sailboat under the sun. I had onions for lunch. In short, I’m in the worst condition to kiss her. I’ve just entered the hotel room. She’s there, buzzing around the...
