Aldo Quagliotti - Circle of Fire, There were times and Snapped

Aldo Quagliotti - Circle of Fire, There were times and Snapped 

Circle of Fire

 We add up to the circle of fire
a flame backing us up
when other continents break down
a vinyl, dancing hard
on its scorching record player
your beauty, every time
chips the dawn in
raising from the same
mercurial darkness
in the summery promises
of eternal love
We came forward
with wintery sex
crossing out the arrogance
of resisting good things
I want You to zone out
over my sweaty back
praying this life
to let us be cheerful
soaked with hope
another idea is coming
to spoon your blazing mind
to inspire my countless
“thank you, meu amor”

There were times

There were times in which I
asked the wind
to lick your nipples
to make you die of joy
those days when I was cuddling
the idea of an escape
by building a time machine
challenging the impossible
with my usual stubbornness
I would  have loved
to hear you laughing
tying my arms
around your chest
tasting such warmness
ferociously snore
seeing your nudity
standing by my euphoria
I woke up with your fading
being my lighthouse
in the dark
and time changed it all
it pushed my dots
and commas
it smacked
my smoky illusions
my meaningless
wanderings
 
You won’t return
to my open door
so I silently tell the wind
to tenderly explode you around
as breeze, as a kiss, as the me I couldn’t be
as my deepest wish
my animalistic prayer
lost in a forever
I will never forgive

Snapped 

I’m treating myself

to a gourmet heart

the delicacy clamped in my jaws

choppy waters, I’m diving it regardless

my cannibalistic veganism is peaceful

I’m overjoyed when making questions

overbored when seeking the answers

imagination has always been the final shore

being logical, to what extent?

I’d rather ride the lightheadedness

of a sci-fi open mic night

snapped by a weekend out

the highs and lows of jump racing

are that we are alive, my dear

and ours is the responsibility

to keep the amazement

a daily miracle

 

Aldo Quagliotti is an Italian poet, born in a small town in northern Italy and raised near a lake
that accompanied his endless afternoons of solitude populated by intermittent voices and
cumbersome dreams. Prone to rebellion, he used his tongue as a pair of scissors to carve
out a corner of the universe in which he could live and he soon became renowned for poetry:
he came across it at conferences he sneaked into in Cambridge and at the Husky races that
he loved watching at night during his stay in Austria. Disobedient and allergic to labels, he
decided to live in London, where he attended the music critic course and thanks to which he
now works as an aspiring music critic for the international magazine, Peek a boo. After
several publications in Italy, which were written up in numerous poetry competitions, he
decided to write a book that collects all his poems written in English. This was how his first
anthology, Japanese Tosa, came about, a sinister journey into human emotions that
escapes the definitions of everyday life and climbs in a timid attempt to reaffirm the
universality of every anger and acrimony and the sacredness of each time we fall in love.