I don’t remember how you looked… — johncoyote.wordpress Via virginiacarvalheira



      John Coyote

Dreams can become nightmares. Nightmares can become sweet dreams one day.

I don’t remember how you looked.

Your eyes were blue, maybe hazel green?

Your hair golden blond or maybe strawberry red?

I  try to describe you and each time I remember less.

Sometime I dream of grasping your hair,

our bodies fighting for the sake of pure pleasure.

You calling out my name, words of love.

You spoke only in the turmoil of sex.

I yearn to see you still.

Your sweet hello’s were sweet and long.

Our goodbyes were long and written deep into the walls of my heart.

I remember your long legs,

you dressed like a woman,

but had the hunger of a child,

seeking the education of the tongue, the touch and the long ride.

I don’t know if you remember me.

I still seek you.

Your hunger was to become mine

and my hunger was to touch you again.

I lost you on a cold Spring day.

I became old as you walked away

with tears and too many words spoken.

I released you for my hunger was to have you forever.

You were seeking a place to rest and get strong again.

Your wish to be free. Was more powerful than mine to

in prison an angel.

I still wish for a gentle knock on my door.

To hear your sweet hello,

fall into your arms again.

Life is only fair in sweet dreams.

I wish to see you,

to look into those beautiful eyes,

to remember how you looked.

John Coyote

1984/rewrite 2012

I don’t remember how you looked… — virginiacarvalheira

Love in Venice #short prose #flashfiction — Short Prose

“Would you like to remain in Venice forever?”

I bite my lips.

“Oh, no, but I would love to live here for an entire winter.”

“And what would you do?”

“Every night I will walk in Piazza San Marco, at that moment when the silence becomes so permeable that my steps can be heard from the moon. In the heated, mysterious, thrilling nights of the carnival I will change mask after mask, dress after dress, smile after smile, pain after pain, lover after lover. Every morning I will mix essences of perfumes, seeking for the very one that can revive the mystique of my body, intoxicate my soul, empower my mind. Every twilight I will dive in the coolness of the Adriatic Sea; my body shivering, my soul revived; my memory of him forever gone. In the night I will go to consult astrologer after astrologer in the less known quarters of the city.”

I stop.

The sound of a church bell tears apart the moist air.

He looks at me: blue eyes, dark hair; powerful voice.

“Tonight there is party at the Doge’s Palace. Would you like to come with me?”

“I am not going to parties anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I died long time ago, by mistake. Now I am just a Venetian mask.”

For a moment he looks flabbergasted.

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers 
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Mohammadreza Zeidabadi; Shutterstock; [link]

Another beautiful poem from Short Prose.

Love in Venice #short prose #flash fiction — Short Prose

Forget me not…

Forget me not

I dreamed of you, I dreamed of us.
I picked-up the phone.
I was dreaming of your face, your voice, sweet like the German Summer wine.
I dreamed of your long legs and I dreamed of your lips upon my lips.

I don’t dial the phone. I whispered to the darkness.
Dear Ambrosia.
Why did you allow me to dance the dangerous tango with you?
Why my dear Abrosia did you promise me love and you awoke my need to love and dance again?

I remember you whispered to me on the dance floor.
Be careful what you wish for. Great wishes make us wish for a miracle.
Dear Poet, no miracles in this life.
Just us wishy washy people who daydream love is sweet and forever.
We are more Tomfoolery  than honest when the song is good and the skin demand attention.

I remember you, I remember us.
We went to the private motel room.
You removed your clothing slowly, allowed my eyes to be blessed by your hidden  soft and tender skin, your  rolling curves of your perfect womanly body.
You came to me you whispered,
am I running toward you or away dear Johnnie?

I put the phone away and I whispered to the lonely night.
Forget me not dear Ambrosia.
We played lovers and we played liars.
Two strangers seeking perfection and perfect love in a world where love is lost, forgotten.
I do remember you.

Via a talented Poet John Castellenas/Coyote
Forget me not… — johncoyote


Almost lovers — virginiacarvalheira repost of

inspirational poem, lead me to this incredibly beautiful song. So thanks to you two mutual followers for that.

Update: I’m thrilled at the response to this. I think I should have gotten started with development of this blog a long time ago and not wasted as much time at tumblr on useless blogs. Thanks folks!