Until our name is meow

by Aldo Quagliotti


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​There is a void beyond your curls
I flex my tongue to sip its slices
thirst after thirst, I inundate you with love
and I grow my feelings on this island
your eyes smell of tomorrow
and petrify that fear
of not reaching your sleepy toe
when coffee is ranting under the blazing summer
and life could be a sink, a rhyme that doesn’t sync
but our shadows keep on kissing
in abstract magenta curves
you scintillating miracle
turn my fingers into a plot
and now I tell stories when I frisk
I pinch flowers to see if you too are real
or everything is meaningless
and our dance will know no rest
we will age ungracefully, under dreamy vineyards
and cross our soapy orgasms
crunch by crunch
until we frost the moment
until our name is meow

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Aldo Quagliotti is a London-based Italian author, father of three poetry collections and in love with creativity in all its forms. He is an ex florist, music reviewer and his work has been included in magazines all over the world.