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E R I K A M O N A S T E R I O
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T H E A V E N U E P L A Z A H O T E L
N A G A C I T Y . P H I L I P P I N E S
Some blue, flowered morning
we’ll go sweetly hands in hands
to listen to the stories the creek murmurs
before the easy amazement of the naked stones…
Lover, we will not speak a single word:
our eyes will speak the language of magic,
and the curious breeze will come very quietly
without breaking the spell of the enchanted hour
Later…like a bunch of beautiful fresh grapes
- cut from the vine by unskilled hands -
I will leave in your mouth with a little fear
the ignored flavor of my first kisses…
Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my unbounded desire, my uncertain road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst follows,
and tiredness follows, and the infinite ache.
But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Ah those goblets of the chest! Ah those eyes of absence!
Ah the roses of the pubis! Ah your voice slow and sad!
I was alone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me
and the night enveloped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged to you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, like a stone in my sling.
Body of woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look yourself like a world in your attitude of surrender.
My rough peasant’s body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depths of the earth.
Body of woman, white hills, white thighs
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