domingo, 27 de noviembre de 2016


Your sex and mine are two mouths.
Don’t you feel what a dew kiss on the flesh!
What a nip, with the brightness of a living almond! 

What a talk with night-dew of an open gorge! 
What a dance, little tongues without bridle!
What a secret of a narrow pass! Our sexes,

love, are two mouths. And two sexes
rattling us now to the place of mouths.
A buried terror, the sunken echo of the bridle 

that tamed the dancing of the flesh,
We have the beach wide open:
Let’s launch here the desire of the living surf.

Your sex and my mouth alive,
in abundance, twisted together as if they were two sexes, 

intermingling liquors of the open fruit
and becoming, in full raving, mouths.
Mouths, corals in lacuna of flesh
where the hour feeds the fate and loses the bridle.

We are where the hour and the fate lose the bridle, 
where we ride on the spring living tide,
without sails, sliding along the wake of the flesh, 

my sex and your mouth: sexes
in the middle of the face and the crotch, mouths. 
Everything is an undulation of open salt.

Sea castles at a party, in the open night 
effacing signs and giving the bridle
of everything to the madness of mouths. 

Any dead leaf becomes alive
in the sunlight that gives dark light to the sexes 
and paints in carmine the flames of the flesh.

Let everything burn in a torrent of flesh
and let our open sap ripen!
Let the solstice of our sexes happen,
let the heart convert to rain every bridle!
Let the patches burst into a living tilth!
Let the forests flourish in thousands of mouths!

And let the mouths make the flesh
takes root, alive, like the open skin
with no bridle at the mirror of our sexes! 

(Transalted from Catalan 'Solstice' this poem was published in the book Terra de Mai by Maria-Mercè Marçal in 1982)

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