_Δάκρυα στο φως του φεγγαριού // Tears in the moonlight_

Here comes the night again.
Blue becomes black, lit only by the moon and the stars.
And here I am in this room with a man-made sun
Attempting to dispel the darkness across all sides
Attempting to provide warmth within the spaces.

And is it too much to ask for?
A companion for company.
Someone with whom the coldest of evenings
Can be transfigured into a warm fire.
A form to see.
Curves to feel.
Skin to touch.
Thrills to hear.
Aromas to smell.
A chase to taste.
A name becomes a melody-cycle

Yet everything I currently have is but a poor substitute
Moving images in place of moving objects
My hands instead of someone else’s
A voice speaking for anybody who asks for it
Senses cannot be exercised
And can only be experienced through a mind’s eye.
But isn’t the real supposed to be
But a poor pale shadow of the ideal?
And if that’s true
Wouldn’t that make me the best lover in the universe?

They say that the stars reflect ourselves.
And that a few special ones can help reveal
The deep desires of a yearning heart.
I wonder if tonight’s the night I can wait until the end
I wish I could match those stars with the seasons
To know for sure.
Perhaps a light-flash above the horizon
Will be a sign to go beyond the horizon
And there a treasure to behold
And at long last…
At long last…

_Θυμός στο σκοτεινό βράδυ // Anger in the dark evening_

Near-black may be the sky
And the room lights may be off-white
Yet all I can see now is red.

Red like her dress:
That of an empress convinced of her own edict
That youth is eternal and thinking makes it so.
The same dress that can lure naïve princes
To rule with her for a night or two.
Or maybe tonight is when she can instead
Elevate a maidservant
Toward a temporary title
In exchange for passing pleasure.
Or maybe be a consul for a Bacchanalia triumvirate
Or even be a part of an orgiastic oligarchy
Paying tribute to Cybele
It is one thing to suspect it
But I know in time I will eventually see it everywhere.

Red like her lips:
Just as carefully painted and sculpted as the rest of her.
She is so eager to show her beautiful form to others.
But with me, she shows something else.
From forth those red lips come red words
Injecting into me a pitchy poison.
But I should not be surprised.
For she could banish an emperor,
Paint him tar-ebony and feather-ivory
And exile him to the city centre
To be scorned and mocked by all to see.

Red like my face:
For now, I see myself with new eyes.
And with new vision comes new understanding
As to how a self-definition was determined by her signature.
Reading the clauses I never agreed to follow
Knowing now these terms and conditions
How could I have let her rule over me for so long?
How was it so easy to let myself be imprisoned?

After another struggle-session
Where she unleashed a stream of bile
And then freshened up for another opportunity
To paint the town red …
I say. I can paint too.