Sunday, 25 October 2009


Your lips are parted      they have ripened
you can’t be more than seventeen
with a vertical line on the skin like a fig
split     opened
and July came out from within;
my lips closed tight for years
went to say something about misery about bitterness,
to utter your name,
you seized them sucked them and there was
no end to summer
all red flowers of fire of blood
herbs cooking pot and love.  

Translated from the Greek by Yannis Goumas

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