Modern Love 

He kisses me with hatred
So his lower jaw is more prominent 

And his tongue sticks out like the tongue of the devil 

He kisses me as if he was hammering

Some cheap but difficult IKEA furniture

And he had lost the user’s guide 

And he can only find one of the two missing screws


How to train your heart – A guide 

I had a guide

I looked for it

In every single corner of my house

The cherry wooden kitchen cabinets

Inside the bathtub 

Behind the old TV

In the garage

And then I decided 

To look under the bed

But remembered I was sleeping alone

And it was hard


We were both vulnerable and we fucked out of love, rarely out of anger. Few times we did it because we were hungry and there was not enough food in the fridge. 
He came from work one night and, on his knees, he hugged my hips, incapable to embrace me completely. He cried because his father was dead and he was happy about it, and because remorse was killing him. He had never experienced love from his father, and now without him he felt relieved and yet trapped. He cried and drank, and he spent the rest of the night lying his head on top of my breasts, my hands tangled in his hair that was of the color of dry hay. 

My perfume was almost gone by the time I arrived at his house. It was an early summer night, humid, steaming hot, and even though his house was 8 minutes from mine, I was already sweating. 

I was going to meet him. We met months before but not in that way, not in the intimacy of his home, walls surrounding us; his temple. I was ready. Open and porous to learn his moves, how he organized the dinner table, whether he uses sleepers or walks barefoot, the music he chooses, wine or beer. 

He opened the door, all black from shirt to faded jeans, his auburn hair falling where it pleased, always in the right places allowing him to tame it from time to time, putting his fingers into it and locating it, tucked behind his ears that were bigger than I thought, prettier too. 

Food was made and displayed in a Greek manner that reminded me of the fake opulence you can see in B movies about ancient times. I hoped his was a double feature. I couldn’t get enough of him. He ate in a way, with such passion, that I ended up being jealous of the fried squid and the olives. When we kissed for the first time, his saliva tasted like Kefalotyri cheese and grapes. He was rough with me because I asked him to, placing his hands around my neck, his blue veins getting swollen. He didn’t give me time to catch my breath, savoring the sound of my gasp. He looked older, wild, almost in dispare. I whispered in his ear: hold on. I’m going to live at least twenty years past you. But it’s okay. 

He smiled and groaned. His wrinkles covered the sides of his eyes. He couldn’t be quiet so I muffled his sounds with my lips. 

I felt him burying himself deep and inundating my fertil cunt until he was too soft to continue. We stumbled and found the bed where we stood for a while, our bodies still moving like two fished trouts left in a puddle. We were not lucid but we looked at each other and he hugged me and told me he was not done with me. Not yet. 

In the morning he made the best breakfast I had ever tasted and we fucked. My legs were trembling and I almost fell in the shower. We took our dogs for a walk, he put them on the leash much like a father helps his kids putting their coats on. 
Tonight I’m going to show you how to catch polliwogs. He said. And caressed my upper lip with such a firmness I had to close my eyes. I was again wet by the time we left his house. 
We sat by the pond and let the mosquitoes bite us through our sweated clothes. He touched my breasts and smiled, relieved to find them handy and big. He needed them like cold water in the desert. I gave him head. My lips remained rounded and numb, still wet from his fluids. The frogs were performing a sad symphony around us and there was nobody in the world that night except us. 

Good girl

Having memories of something that has never existed

Like the domesticated wild animal
Who doesn’t remember being scared



And yet every treat

Every piece of food 

Brings the possibility to be the last one

Fear and joy 

The animal instinct of survival 

The contented tail

Swiping the floor with happiness

Asking for more
And just like that 

I have found my body

Numb and bruised out of love 

Afraid of being left 

My cunt would whisper his name

Even when he was still inside me

The dusk came to see me gasping

Grabbing his hips

Famished hands

My avid thighs 

Would wrap him tightly 

Never satisfied 

Forever pleading

I would flatten my ears

Curl my tail over my back

And crawl back again to bed

Good girl


This bones

Covered with tremulous flesh

Yelling so many names

Crawling the floors

Breaking the glasses against the walls

So many houses and souls 

And yet I learnt nothing

Each day weighs like a mountain stone

In the mornings I laughed and cried 

I pissed and fucked

I ate and I fed 

I fatten my thighs 

Bacon and eggs

I listened to my mother 

Forcing me to finish breakfast

To hurry 

Running to school

Always late 

Shuffling my feet to the slaughterhouse 

Wasting time

Smoking at 8:30 with my friend

Giving head behind a bush at 14:30 

After school

Before returning home for lunch

Sundays at church

Kneeling down in front of a plastic God

Counting the tears of the old ladies 

The rancid smell of saliva around their tights lips

Pressing against them a crucifix 

Unable now to smile

My first morning alone

Far from home

The beds of all my lovers

Sheets whiter than the pall

Covering the coffins of our unborn sons

Reading under the duvets until 6 am

The loyal lantern

The days of feverish dreams

Coughing my lungs out

The days of shouting invisible names

Mornings with my siblings to combat the fear 

With my parents to fight the innocent aversion of loneliness

Waking up by their side 

Kindness granted 

Love delivered 

All the mornings I have lived 

And I have learnt nothing

I wake up by your side

And all I can do is thinking about all the mornings

I will wake up without you