In the bliss of the Love I give
kiss by Kiss I melt
In the light flashes of my loving
I do annihilate

In the bond I keep alive I’m like a Nova
liquid, luminous, burning, blasting
Not the me I was born but more
Stopping time with my the clock of my hearty

This is my essence
it rhymes with the Love I am
with it, it breathes

This is the love I carry
Mighty and formidable it is

𝙴𝚝 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜,
𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜,
𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚕â𝚗𝚎𝚞𝚜𝚎,
𝚚𝚞𝚒 𝚙𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚛ê𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚎
𝚎𝚝 𝚛é𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚡
à 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚎 𝚓𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚛𝚒
𝚍𝚎 𝚜𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗.

——————–
Alors je dis
pourquoi pas,
moi c’est moi,
ca aussi c’est moi
——————–

I saw a stone.

It was heart shaped. It is heart shaped. I took it, gently, I lifted it and holding it in my two hands I brought it to my chest, to my heart. I closed my eyes and two silent tears filled the space between my closed eyelids abs my eyes. Then they poured down my face.

I took it home, showered did my things, got comfortable and then I decided to paint it. I took my painting tools and prepared a dense red. With all the care I am capable of I brushed it in red, I painted it, in tears.

I painted half of it, then had it dry, then turned it upside down and did the bottom half. Some parts holds small streaks from my brushing. I stopped to look at them, they looked like living lines, arteries, veins. They felt right to me.

It is with me since then. The heart from the stone.

Can you turn a stone into a heart? Why did I do it? Maybe we can turn a stone into a heart, maybe not. Maybe it is is, seeing life in stones, maybe we need to see it, and that´s why we see life where there is not. Or maybe we infuse it.

I do speak to it at times, it even answers me, it is mostly « yes » and « no-es », and then I add the rest, I speak a lot to reply, explain and build stories.

It is here now, by me. And with my mind and my little heart, I fly

She spent the morning cleaning the tips of two diamonds. A long procedure, a tale of patience in a day where her hands rather wanted to be shaky and her eyes wanted to cry.
The cleaning took time, it needed be done and redone. At the end they were as she wanted: sharp, shiny, transparent.
She did it by consuming her emerald eyes over the stereomicroscope, following under the objective the tip of soft needle she held in her hand. In the lab they say it is something only a woman can do it to perfection. She caressed the gems lovingly, so to remove every speck of dust.
Long hours.
Once she finished doing that she proceeded with the second step: placing a ruby over the diamond culet watching up at her.
A single microscopical ruby, a drop of red, a round red ball fifty millionths of meter wide.
It took half day to place that little drop how she wanted.

At that point she placed the salt around the ruby sphere.
She covered a round surface of one hundred and sixty microns with the salt that she cooked in the chemical ruby of the friend Alessandra, working in the nearby lab.
It took one hour to do it.

Then in the silence of the clean room, the moment of truth: the sealing. She took the second diamond, turned with the culet looking down and placed it on top of the first one.
They need perfectly aligned, that or nothing, that or failure.
Will all the care she was capable of, she lowered the top one, to land on top of the ruby, the salt, the other end.
Two hours

She took a moment in between these activities, to breath, to recollect, to rest the eyes. At the end she was satisfied about her work. Looking at it she couldn’t help doing what she always does, finding poetry in things. She looked at it and she saw two diamonds, two, shiny, transparent, incredibly hard diamonds. In between them a little ruby, a very little drop of red, invisible. Invisible unless you know it is there, invisible unless You shine light on it.

If you don’t shine light on it you will simply never see the burning little ruby. Things are often like this, in life.
On the other hands, when you shine light and there is a living sphere like that inside, placed with all the care in the world, then, the diamonds shine different, nobody needs to know why, but they shine different, special.

What happened next wasn’t nice, but that is another story

Writing is very important for me.
Sharing is vital for me, expressing myself.
But I am sorry, I am not posting much in here.
The fact is that I am not ok in this moment.
I’m generally a very positive person, but I am not ok right now.

I know this will maybe cost the patience of those who have been so kind and nice to follow me. I am sorry. I will be back.

Thank You all
I can’t write now, maybe I will post some old things.
Sorry, not ok, thanks for the time, we sick poem writers are like that

Much love,
kitty

River’s cradle, the lines in the soft skin of her hands
Snow reflexes, the white of her eyes
contrasting the emerald green of her ponds.

Ice blue sky, the mirror of her soul
now hosted within the safe lock of her ribs cage.

Razor blade thoughts side by side with tenderness.
A sweetness so precious as to be hidden.

Openly shared, impenetrably protected.

Wrapped,
head over her own knees
arms hugging her own legs
Naked she lies
in the silent room

Wood and warmth,
below her knees
Icy world
outside, around her shell.

Storm hammers on ceiling windows
Raindrops leave
their screaming trails
on trembling glass

Wrapped,
looking down,
then turning up.
She stares the sky outside
the raging vault yells down at her

An adult woman she is
a fetus she is.
Hosting love she is,
a vector of life, forever she’ll be

Her eyelids gets down
within she goes
The world gets colourful
within her mind

Like that, she leaps
Like that she reaches
Her Secret Garden.

In there she rises
in all her colours
the ones she is
the ones she carries.

Tears down her eyes
now flow like rivers
but shine like smiles
no raindrops on glass

She is free in there.
The time is now
for her to fly,
riding her dreams.

And so, She does

There is a dream you dream the most,
you love the most,
you feel yours the most.

There always is.

It is the dream sneaking in you
from that small chink
in Your darkest rooms.

It enters in your night to steal your solitude,
wrap you and warm your heart.
You do not need to sleep for that dream.

It is there,
at Your reach,
in You
waiting for You
to breath it.