a lesson in tongues

[Henri]

I can't hold it! I can't hold it!!! I caaaaan't!

Auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuù!!!!!!

[Ani]

are you cicinka??
lulkonja??

lol

[madman]

kto ne anglisht nuk i kisha lexuar....
eshte kot te komentosh. flm per ndjenjat qe japin poezite tuaja.

per ty mund te behesha dhe lesbike :)
pax
madman

[Ani]

a madman is enough! lol
thanks for reading,
ani

[Albioni]

Burrow our tongues
into orange meat.
They meet, a semi-sweet
twist of skin, citrus stung.

Your sex
is the flesh of soft peach.
It melts around my teeth---
pink, juicy flecks.

Stains of blackberries
darkening your hard
nipples, mingling with sweat---
syrupy, wet sherry.

Pomegranate love: a bloody caviar
beautifully caked within our chests.

[Ani]

what have you done?
i feel undone!

:-)

gorgeous, delicious poem!
the sounds in it are mahvellous!

ahhhh...

[Albioni]

Roses are red....
Violets are blue.....
The shorter the dress....
The better the view.....

and...............

Where are you?

[Ani]

heheh, albo, ja ku jam. paskemi qene 'nsync sot. sot erdha te forumi e te pashe qe me ke thirr. s'kam qene rrotull kto dite te korrikut. vapa na mbyti. fjalet here na shterojne here na burojne po si gjithmone nuk mjaftojne. neser do takoj zyshen e fillores qe me ka dhene arithmetike!! can you believe that?? qe nga 1Maji i Tiranes e drejt e ne Amerike pas gjithe kesaj kohe te takohem me zyshen!! unbeliavable!! I'm psyched!!

te fala lal!
Ani

[Albioni]

Ajo kerpurdha poshte emrit si shume e dyshimte me duket, plus qe eshte e shemtuar. Ka mundesi te besh ndonje ndryshim?

[Ani]

Drenched

When I woke up this morning the air outside my window was a languid gray and the tree’s branches looked moist even though it was not raining yet. Maybe it had already rained and stopped. I could have been sleeping. I didn’t get up till much later. I was so comfortable lying there knowing that the gray world would wait for me. It always seems like the world stops when it rains. You won’t miss anything too great even if you don’t go outside. So I slept for another two hours.

Autumn is almost over. When you look at the edges of a tree from the distance, they look like grape veins. They’re gray, deleafed. The veins reach upward and I don’t know what for. There has to be a slight bending when the wet rain moistens their dry, wind-beaten bodies. There must be some silent noise, some satisfied exclamation, some thanks. A crow is quite clearly visible. He can’t hide anymore. Neither can birds even though they’re gray like the branches.

I look down on my hands. They are dry. Most of the time, my hands are moist with nervous sweat. I have never been able to stop this anomaly. They would shrink at hearing me call it such but to me this constant sweat is such, an anomaly. I live with it. I am always hesitant to shake hands. And only I know how much I want to shake hands and how much I like to touch a face or two. Like last night when he kissed me for the first time, I would have loved to hold his face somehow but I fluttered and left.

I have always felt an absence of things, of words. It is in this absence that I find their presence to be most significant. It is absence I long for. If I had something then I had it and that would be too common a thing. But what I don’t have is what I always think about and what always gives my thoughts a flight. The absence of certain words changes the thread of my thoughts. If I always had the word I wanted then I would be like a fish statue in a fountain by the park constantly spilling out water, unaware of its flow in my mouth because the water would be coming through and out of me in a mechanical way done by some outer means.
I have not kissed..........

.........that much. I am afraid that a mouth will consume me whole in just a minute. It would completely take me in and I don’t know if I could get out or if I did get out I would never be the same. I need this absence, at least for a little while longer. Do you think the trees want rain all the time? They would probably never experience bending and inner exclamations if it weren’t for the once in a while try. But everyone around me has a fever for presence. I am outnumbered.

The other day I saw a bunch of birds on the ground, their bellies really fat and I thought they must all be pregnant. Is it their time? I never know their time or the squirrels’ or anyone else’s outside my human ring. I mix them up if anything. But the birds were on the ground and I remembered grandma who used to say that it would rain if you see the birds down on the ground. And sure it did this morning. I don’t quite understand how something that is meant to fly would change the weather by changing its behavior. But why should I be surprised? We change the weather around us too when we lay our thoughts out on the table to someone for the first time, we talk and talk and it is like a communion; thoughts which we always kept to ourselves are laid out for this other person to try. The weather changes. The person leans forward and whispers you a story you already know. It is warm and sweet. And you bend inward and you hear the rooms inside you exclaim and you hear the echoes.

My mother tells me that I used to talk to the leaves on the trees long before I started talking. I wander what I blabbed and if I even noticed the rain on the branches. Can a child see moisture’s ways? I think I would give up all the views with trees and live by the desert. There would always be a substitute. The absence of trees would make me think of birds and perhaps a crow would come to visit. Sometimes when I walk alone, I know what the earth feels after my weight has moved a few feet away. Sometimes I can literally taste a word somewhere within my palate or between my brain and my nose. The fact that it doesn’t come to me means that it exists in its richest, ripest form. I have to be careful with want. Such things only come when you’ve grown used to their absence.