a convict

in slippers, with suspenders

he followed the ritual

while she combed her hair

and the silent melody

of her thighs,

and a spell coming from her lips--

a song that she sang

in front of a mirror,

and simultaneously

he was composing the words

in a discrete feeling

of surrender:

thank you,

oh thank you

for this incredible ride,

for you don't know

how to hide,

for you don't know how

to hide...

that he's tortured by love,

the one that burns inside,

he'll admit

hundreds of times

as soon as she steps

in front of that mirror

again

to comb her hair

with the same melody

of movements

so he can observe

with a greedy desire,

like a lone tenant

in slippers,

with suspenders,

who opened the door very slowly,

making sure

she doesn't see him in

reflection.

© Tom Del Braco

unpredictable contradiction

look, the night already dressed the city

in the colour of

blues,

with the scent of a motown

strangely laid to rest in the rain gardens

and it quietly approached the moments of solitude

like a reflection of my outlook on life, and you are

still there?

I feel you holding my hand

and the heat is irresistible, but I don't know how

to adjust to that summer that lives

inside you.

in me, tonight, the rainy autumn is in charge

and it's hiding me from conscious people.

after all, this is the city in which is easy

to artfully conceal;

the streets are neatly arranged, decorated with colourful lights

with seemingly inappropriate glow

but still, there are days when I feel

like a stranger in this town...

sometimes I call it my own contradiction, in many ways

uncertain cradle of dreams;

and you admire me

startled by my grim uncertainty

and you're offering your beauty that I don't deserve. really,

why are you here? I admit,

I feel connected to you

in every sense of your being because

I was separated into small pieces and now,

with your kindness, albeit briefly

I'm assembled again and

shot down by your essence, cleansed with your acceptability,

in your mind's eye captured- and it scares me

because I'm not sure if you know

how dangerous it is

to be in love with a dreamer --

they're not here to be awake,

they're not here for awake people...

they're afraid of the morning birds, their first whistle

and they're hiding their faces- and you?

you think you found mine?

my world is enclosed by the walls of past.

some call it melancholy,

I again - a parody,

unconscious strategy against the onslaught of snowy

emotional storms -

and you are still here?

dear madam, please don't …

you are the victim of a fraud.

you are the sacrifice for loners like me that, apparently,

do not care.

© Tom Del Braco

games

a simple thought

ever
since I've known you
I know-

before you
I never knew
myself.

ever
since I've seen you
I know-

without you
I struggle to see
myself.

ever
since I've felt you
I know-

feelings
don't belong exclusively
to pain

because
every time I yearn for you
I know

this poem
is not quite
the same

without
that fire that's burning
in your eyes

without that passionate
seductive
flame.











© Tom Del Braco