by TM Tamish
Il vecchio gelataio
Has seen all passing and
Knows all kindly faces and
His grizzled features
Are creased by fleeting kisses
From Frascati balconies
Wafting to his cart.
Night is lofted gently in whispers over the Piazza
Sounds of primal intimacy mingle with a loosely fastened shutter
Across the craggy lips of the vecchio gelataio breaks a smile
What he knows, he knew long since – and tonight.
Evening breezes pull at lacework curtains
Yellowed by smoke and immemorial denial
Spifera di sera – they are inhaled again into the room
Waving silently at rumpled bedsheets moving
Your arms weigh against my chest as honeycombs
Emulsions warmed and mixing into a shifting one
In your hair, my lips find mesmerizing fragrance
And in this instant, I would consume you whole.
Into my arms, I pull your willing skin
All the world around we two repel
Hearts together drone out our only sound
I lose myself in you under soothing winds.
Frascati morning dawns in orange glow
I turn to you and smile to see you there –
And far below a creaking cart is pulled
“Sweet gelati,” cries the ancient knowing call.
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