I am your lover, in heat,
one who walks your streets,
train tracks and crowded sidewalks;
a restless body drunk by the sight of your exquisite beauty.
My eyes, my hands,
my lips, my tongue,
my maddening senses search
for your blood-vein that pours senselessly into the loyal lake
as she shimmers in her poised modesty
for the eye of the summer moon.
I envy the moon.
Naked, she sleeps,
still and quiet in the palms
of Summer’s hand,
bowing after a humid performance.
The stench of seaweed
and raw fish brings forth
a sweet familiarity,
the hunger to belong
to the heat,
before winter bursts through like a violent rage,
before the first snowfall blankets the lukewarm skin of the earth,
erected roof tops, damp alleyways
and construction sites that abandon
booming corner streets.
I glide like a loose leaf amongst your cement-like skin,
restless and blowing from corner to corner,
edge to edge,
puddle to puddle.
Deep dishes of rain pockets quench
the thirst of dirty pigeons and desperate seagulls
that snatch crumbs,
the nerves of timid foreigners.
And I stroll,
stroll between the rows
of your private past,
clues you have left behind;
museums, galleries, studios and theaters,
everything draws me to you, like a hot tease,
a sleazy taunt that haunts my flesh
like a spontaneous kiss under open skylights.
And the sight
of your ravishing body,
a picturesque landscape,
leaves me excited by night,
by day, by seasons that lag
before the birds burst in a loud choir;
the first symphony!
And fear not!
The fires that once burned you,
no longer leaves a scar,
no longer taints the multitude
of lights or faces that drape
your old wounds, healed, decades ago.
And like an obsessed lover who
longs to know you well, deeply,
intimately, selfishly like the depth of local ravines
hidden by your bed of solid greens,
I yearn to discover the arousing bud
between your city lights.
And by day,
I travel to feel the old comfort
of screeching metal,
of flushed streetcars
that vibrate beneath my legs,
pumping the heart behind this chest, alive!
And I wait to feel fresh
cut transfers between
the edges of my finger tips,
the smell of exotic fruits, and ginger,
and garlic and salted fish,
that connects my eyes and hungry lips with strangers, alike,
and the homeless man that smells
of cheap booze, mouthwash
and light cigarettes.
And did you know?
In passing, I see my shadow, deformed in tall windows,
overwhelmed by red discount signs, violinists and mimes,
and starving artists that infest corner streets, trapping the eye
of bystanders, cyclists, and patio waiters like a magic trick
between low wages
and midnight shifts.
And I witness
polite and carefree neighborhoods that dwell in the scent
of dirty money,
burned at the corners from
the acid of illegal pot homes
that stand in rows and strips
shoved between cocky
buildings and old churches;
the culture of crimson brick walls,
and of stained colored windows
that stand blushing amidst the mild air.
the bay and gable homes,
and worn out houses
that stand on ceremony
like old warriors in straight rows,
and odd styles, mismatched.
All that is unsightly, yet beautiful,
have aged and compromised through
periods of humble growth, this I know.
And I hunger,
hunger to love, to thirst, to yearn,
to be apart of your gritty streets,
woven in the fibers of the golden shoe.
And there is more.
I am fascinated by fumes
that spit in reluctance
the last liter that grips
and releases with a final hiss,
like a savage beast.
by the smell of fresh cement
and tar that reeks
on sidewalks, loudly,
like free speech that oozes
from the lips of happy immigrants
by the smell of coffee shops,
and bakeries that house the herd
of men and women; happy mortals,
in tight suits and latest phones
someone called “cool”
as young souls smelling of herbs, sex and light cigarettes
blast music through the cove
of florescent headphones
through the beauteous distillery.
When I am distant
from the details of your mystical life,
my chest begins to fight the emptiness,
the hollow cavity that lives unwillingly in my urban heart,
wanting to be with you again.
And again, intimately,
inside tobacco free diners,
chic lounges and boutiques;
a place where I dream to meet you again, beside the proud, almighty
Copyright @ By Author V.S. Atbay from the book:
Epiphany - A Collection of Poems.
Publisher - Friesenpress, 2013