An Italian kiss

4 Comments

 

Have you Miss tried an Italian kiss he asked

as she leisurely passed by his stall

 

this he said with spring,

like dough bouncing after yeast is added

later spun high in a pizzeria

 

she thought his words asked for embracing

should they suddenly go

or should she slip out of sight

her visiting, non-European shyness

pushing her instinctively to hide

tortoise-like, she was starting to stand out

 

She knew in this moment in time

calle of discovery

Venetian peach, amethyst lanterns

shone inside her, opening her up

red as the rose

white as the lily

green as sea grass

 

Fairytales can be real she thought

dance in her was stirring

settling her flight

 

St Mark's Basilica projected

musical angels

Under the winged lion

that day near the bridge

 

it's now or never

this doesn't happen every day

 

No, she replied in her Australian accent

Still curious, shy as a child

to avoid the feeling, she focused on the elderly vendor's

features — his

azure Murano eyes

against his tanned lined visage

skin as soft as baby cow leather

leather you want to touch

hands with gold freckles

lips cracked but plump

 

Without further ado

the mature Venetian gent

cupped his hands beneath her egg-chin

holding her heart-face in his hands

careful not to drop her

He then brushed aside some of her stray brown hair

Daintily, as a woman would another woman

 

His touch felt silken

smooth were his movements, unfaltering

so, as to not mark her skin with his unclipped fingernails

nor crack her shell, or move her away, this girl is to stay

 

The Italian proceeded to move in with silence

His eyelash touched her cheek first, then his lips

Only one with an expert heart could get it this right

She thought to herself

As he kissed the right, then left

cheek

 

Pressing his fig-lips

precisely in the right place,

exact and difficult to replicate by others

but more interesting

was the intense burn they possessed

a light for Italy was forever lit

by this newness of touch, newness of place

 

She savoured the moment so that it could be placed in memory

Later to be recalled, like the scent of Limoncello

Ragu Napolitano

Dolcetto

Tiramisu

Creamy Ricotta

Pistachio gelati

 

Italian's she now knew, by design

have more fun

they kiss for peace too

as Peter and Paul do

in a sixteenth century painting

 

She felt her heart glow, red green and white

and thanked the special vendor of 'bacio'

for her first, only

Italian Kiss

 

 

Meg DolanMeg Dolan self published the collection Story: Reflective Poetry, and her poems have also appeared in the Tipton Poetry Journal, the Sunflower Collective, ditch, Lifelines and Naturewriting. Meg worked formerly as a psychotherapist, however due to a rare illness has taken a new path. Her new collection Royal will be out later this year.

Topic tags: Meg Dolan, poetry, Italy

 

 

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Existing comments

What a delightful mature Venetian gentleman. I wonder if he can dance too?
Pam | 05 August 2019


The symbols of temptation come in many forms from an Apple/Pomegranate/Fig or a Dryad… She took my hand at the garden gate. Movement of easy gentle of pace and spoke with grace. The gardeners were old women dress in black. When they looked at her they were looking back. Come, come to the glade, and rest in the shade, while I show you my ways. Swaying with the breeze, she moved amongst the trees. With movement and shape of every branch, she commenced to dance. Every conceivable form she made within that wooded glade, still moving with the flow “I have more to show”… We went to green hill. Domed monument built with great skill. Marble and ivory, adornment within, she enhanced it further still… A bathing room of splendour, you could eat of the floor. Showing contraptions I had never seen before. Entwining herself almost into my form ‘This cannot be I’m a Christian you see’ My mind was as crystal to converse in a dream, but who set the scene? You bow before your God but we are equal with ours, your promise is your seed shall be as many as the stars. But I am destined to dine on the seed, the sons of Jacob are my feed. She spoke with such clarity of the Hebrews of old nimble and at easy, confident with knowledge, she smiled and teased, “I do as I please” “Show me your heart?” Her face was as of ivory, her top lip, turned to old bone, it cracked it crumbled, I heard her groan; now I was alone kevin your brother In Christ
Kevin Walters | 06 August 2019


A bacio bestowed with delightful sprezzatura, Meg!
John RD | 06 August 2019


Lovely. Although no need for the possessive apostrophe. Italians. Best wishes, M.
Mary | 06 August 2019


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