Chickadee
The pitch chirp of the chickadee recites the verse I wrote for you last night, and your smile opened my heart, hourly unction of silence when the heartless Hades caressed your cheek, and another ulcer formed in my stomach
—Do you want me to wear this green dress, or should I wear the black one?
My breath turns sulfuric, a potion the angels refuse to take away from my mouth, a taste I must indulge in for the rest of my life without you, my love
—Come and help me with the zipper; this dress is so tight.
Dove tethered onto my heart paints the room white as if a melodious song has gone flat. Your revered image still keeps me company when the night clock counts my heartbeats, and my spoiled dream rekindles my hidden yearning
—Don’t pull on the zipper so hard, you’ll break it. Come now, you’ve done this many times.
The gaping mouth of the abyss shuts, and your honeyed mound stands opposite the murky swamp where I struggle not to leave my worthiness attached.
—Now, isn’t it easy? Let’s go to the theatre tonight, don’t worry about the dog
Manolis Aligizakis 