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by Camillo DiMaria

What I say to you
is what I wish
would be said to me, and
what you say to me
is what you wish
would be said to you. I love you.

It seems to be said
from my mouth,
but meant more for me
than it is for you. And when

you say something of that nature to me
I get suspicious and think
that it’s all in vain for you. I miss you.

You miss you. Conversations
with people
who put away their mirrors. I put mine
away then. And we speak in
the dark, like clay being shaped.
You love you. Roman god.

Hellenic goddess. I love me. Sounds
more awkward,
a lot more difficult to
reshape. I miss me. So what,
if it’s all in vain for us,
when what is being touched
is touching too.



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