kernel, reflections

though the fact that they were terrible did not mean that they were necessarily truthful

Month: December, 2012


 Sweet droplet of sweat

from my breasts

waters the soil,

thy, man, I caress.

I call for nature’s beasts

to feed off my deepest needs

tears and blood

I give to thee,

feed off of me,

I, Lilith,

called Maria and Eve,


Milk for your mouth

I give out,

I mother thee,

through this pain I breath.


I have labored beasts and feasts,

centuries now,

A queen and a slave

this body my cave.



For me, you say you have been killed,

 But I’ve cured more sorrow than

That that you give.


By my mixture

to swell my belly,

to create,

And for all of these,

You gave one word to me: woman.


drink my sweat, my blood

my milk, my tears

The seed of sin,

I, Lilith,

I will not eat.


moving countries

A new body, a country to discover

as big as a desert before my wet eyes.

I shyly meet your earth,

while you speak,

I travel through your history, mesmerized, by its ripe wealth.

The way you look at me,

an unknown sea,

that calls for me to swim;

your smile, flakes as pure as snow,

an open invitation to your rough whole soul.

The taste of your kiss,

the warmth of your breath

a blend of sweet mulled wine that I have missed,

our little world forms every time we hug.

Deprived of this,



the moment,

like a hungry lioness,



give myself to thee.

I write

When I turn the moments into words

and when I grasp every little sound.

When I think, and in my head

my voice echoes loudly against the boundaries of my skull.

When I speak and I listen to the music coming out of my mouth

blending with the space I’m in.

When I touch and the feeling breeds words

while I’m desperately trying to focus.

When I observe the play; other people living what I’m not

a poet’s heavy curse and sin.

I see what you don’t.

I feel what you can’t.

I am what you are not.

un po di aiuto

Don’t let my eyes fool you

I’m not really listening, those questions need not to be answered

I’m fooling you dear, I’m not really there.

I write down my dreams, I sketch out my future, I put my pain in writing, my love also, my little mark on soft paper.

As I live, I observe, feeling the moments in every cell of my aging body and I walk around,

dancing letters in my head, always flighty, as I try to pull the sentences together.

Yet,there are some moments when the words fail me and then my body is not enough

some unleashed energy bigger than myself.

My steps are really letters.