SENSUAL ELPINOR
…—
The statues are in the museum.
—No they chase you, why don’t you see it?
I mean to say with their broken limbs
with their ancient shape that you don’t know
yet you recognize.
Like when
in the last years of your youth, you loved
a woman who remained beautiful, and you’d always fear
as you held her naked at high noon
the memory awakened in your embrace
you feared that the kiss would betray you
in other beds of the past
which nevertheless could haunt you
idols in the mirror, alive bodies of sometime ago
their sensuality.
Like when
you return from foreign lands and by chance you open
an old trunk locked for years
and you find rags of cloths you used to wear
in pleasant times, in festive days with lights
colorful, mirrored, that always dim
and only the perfume of absence remains
of a young form.
True, these fragments
are not the statues; you are the relic;
they chase you with a strange virginity
at home, in the office, in receptions
of tycoons, in the indescribable terror of sleep
they talk of things you’d prefer never existed
or that they’d take place years after you died
and this is difficult because…
