Heat
In the heat of Greece
water gushed out of
our touching chests
I drank your sweat
in your kisses
and your ah,
in the shade of the shutters.
When the day progressed
to the wild high noon
you were aroused too
with your unravelled hair
your holy eyelids
your multiplied laughter
in the salty prisms of passion.
In such an erotic peak
such motionlessness
only with the shadow
of our dark fate above us
the sketches of our beings
resembled an equation of insects.
August turned acidic
like an open wound
and the endless cicadas
again reminded us of the poet
at the end of the poem.
sleeplessness.
The fly that intentionally defaces everything
landed on your penis
and savored your bodily fluids.
The watermelon seller
with his megaphone goes by.
High noon falls
on my legs
like a severed head.

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