Susan
The nipple of the southern wind
wedges its pleat between the lips
of the virgin yet to be kissed and the
innocence of the first night
draws a breath of relief as
the cherry blossoms mourn
for the death of Madame Butterfly
while the young samurai scribes
his funereal three-verse poem
black claws holding onto
flesh and torn muscles
as Susan’s lips lock with mine
the torn hearts sigh when
endless black hides behind
the trivial and the momentary
Manolis Aligizakis 