by Marcello Comitini

And I think myself lying on the wall
where, as a child, my mother took me to watch
the innocent turns of carousel.
Under a starry sky
in the swirl of colors
in the flashing of lights
lions elephants gazelles whirled around
and the timid children
on their backs they laughed on horseback
and shouts of joy
of that little girl with the red bows
who lifted her pigtails
like the sweet horns
of a tempting little devil
and her cries of joy
clutching her legs
around the hips of the leopard
with its jaws wide open
in an imagined assault,
eyes eager for prey
and fangs like blades
cutting through the air.
At each turn, the little girl disappears
and my girlfriend reappears,
and I happy to see her.
Now the images come back
and her voice soft and suave
as if I had drunk it from her lips.
I think on the carousel I am
the leopard and my girlfriend
stroking my hips between her knees
welcomes the crimson flower
of my nudity.
The little girl passed
countless times in front.
In this turn that I see again,
I wanted to kiss her endlessly,
are a thing of two bodies
that never stop kissing.
But between her legs
a lake of blood terrifies and stops
the intoxicating turn of innocence.

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