di essere amato

by Steven J. Serafiani

to be loved
a feast for one
a famine for two

I remember the last
she was a great woman
cared
loved
supported
but she could not supersede my fantasies
the ones where I moved without a letter, a word, a wet eye
because her name wasn’t emilia romagna
wasn’t sicily
I wanted cafes
to roam in freedom streets
loafer exchanging history
wander with my thoughts
with my pen
to drink wine and
learn tongues I once heard from a kitchen highchair
to bed women with a vowel’s end
to explore my ancestral aquarium

and I know it wasn’t fair
to share my time
my lips
my hips
my hair twirling fingers and eye lingering
my whim longing time
to waste hers
wasn’t fair

so keys went back to landlords
and lovers went back to strangers

I still don’t have emilia or sicily
may never
and that makes me fearful for the next.

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