His hand
Tosses the pen on the table
His head
Leans back on the headrest of the armchair
His eyes
Are fatigued
Shut off
.
His chest
Heaves
Gently
His legs
Pass their weariness on to my hands
His thighs
Spread open
Lure me to inhale their fragrance
I inhale
And wonder
What would psychology have anything to do with reasons behind our lovemaking
What would sociology have anything to do with our corresponding bodies
What would the meaning of “He and I” have to do with philosophy
My fingertips
Touch the purple veins on his member, trace along
Like the finger of the blind, feeling his way along the brail
Essence of meaning
Lies in the clear supple drops
Oozing out of the tip of his organ
Reason, is the blood circulating vigorously
In the spongy tissues of mine and his organs
When we’re craving each other
History
Is the moment during which he and I
Wrap around each other
And philosophy
Is his cum
Spelling
Interpreting
u
s
In my mouth
My chin
Rests over his bare knees
My eyes
Watch into his eyes
My face
Receives caresses from his hands
*
His hand
Picks up the pen on the table
_
Kourosh Zandi
Translated by Saghi Ghahraman
Toronto 20014
پوست آهو کشیده به تن
Nude
Standing slanting erect like trees teasing the wind
His unbraided hair linger on shoulder blades
Nude
He’s pulled deerskin over his flesh
به ناز
ایستاده، خیال می کنم، اما همین فقط ایستاده، اما به ناز
Not bent
Not straight
Leaning his temple on the wall
The sun
Now gone
Splashed on his skin sunrays
He tips with the tip of the toes the pillow; not fallen on the foot of
The bed in this room which is not a bedroom but a café
Where I sleep at nights with all the beer
And gaze at his skin at him
Nude
Naked nude
در را به هم می زند پنجره را به هم می زند
سرد است
لخت است
زیر لایه های لباس
دستش را می کشد
بیرون
Rubs
On my eyes my lips
Opens my eyes my legs
So that I go
Ahead
Again
Not come go back
Not in sleep
Not in person
And my mouth
Agape
Awonder
Here
Not to inhale
Doesn’t look like sucking this swallowing up
I am sinking I am not coming, here,
اینجا
که ایستاده او باد وزیده به ایستادنش همیشه
Naked
Under layers of shirts color
Over color
Sitting up, or down, or naked
Under layers of garments
It’s a wonder how his cloths’re becoming on his body on which
The sun shines on his moonlit skin
And his hands
Those hands
And the legs
And the back
And the hair
Sitting on the shoulder tips
به ناز
And the moonlit face
به ناز
And the moonlit تن
به ناز
کفل ِگرد ِ ماه ِ کوچک ِ گرد
به ناز
And the doped balls
Dosing off hanging
به ناز
And sleepy dizzy dick
Wobbling
Hanging
Flirting
Naked
Nude under layers
Of garment
And here
My head
My tired drunken smoking coughing crying head
Wobbling
Tipped to the side
On my shoulders,
Turns hungry around
And he
Standing naked under layers of garments
Nude
A never present sun shines
On his skin
اخمالو اندکی، اندکی به ناز
می چرخد
وا می کند
His beautiful mouth, shuts his beautiful eyes, we’re nowhere here is nowhere to be,
Sings, or he is sung by his song
خسته ام، حیرت کرده ام، از دست می روم، مست
I drink a little more
And blame it on the bottle when I see
A single stem of Jasmine, or
A tall Lily of the Valley, or
An evergrand ever-ruthless tree
Sit by me, shake his head:
To whatever, whatever, whatever
And leans his head
به دیوار
Not on my knees, and lets go
زیر لباس
لخت، لخت لخت
I am god if I am not
Ripping shirts and pants off
Him
To bare him
To bear him
Whole
To swallow the dick whole while his hands
Hold my head tight so I don’t swallow him whole
.
Saghi Ghahraman
Owen Sound, Ontario 2004
Woman in love has
Eyes like saucers
Jammed with quivering worms
.
Blind of sight, her nostrils
Sharp to smells of darkened corners
.
Pale and warm, her thighs
Yearn to embrace the emerging
Object into the hollow of her
Pit, to weave a web ‘round the face
Of the desired, to feast on
Chunks of love
.
She has a womb
For rent, a cunt
To donate
.
Her limbs bent her body chants her nails sink her hands grab
She opens her mouth like fish; shuts her mouth
She floats on waves withered and limp
.
Alas
Woman in love is the savage Lilith
In constant fall and rise
.
Saghi Ghahraman
Military Trail Scarborough Ontario 2002
Your skin is mine by rights.
And so is the smell of it.
And when your skin matures into the lips, the line distinguishing lips from the rest, is also mine.
And when skin is pouting, swollen into a pair of luscious lips, the sight of the pout is mine.
And when skin reaches the rim of lids holding your eyeballs, the crows’ feet under your magnificent eyes is mine.
And when skin seeps up to the hairline, anywhere over the area of your fragile skull it covers, is mine.
And when from up there spreads down and drapes round your shoulders; underarms; small of the back; your ass, the whole mound; thighs, down to the shins, the sole of your foot faced-up, all those gently wiggling toes, it’s mine.
Where the skin curves up beneath your nails to come out on the other side, it’s mine, by rights.
You share with me what’s yours.
I will be gentle. Wont tear it open. Not even when dead drunk.
.
MY love,
What’s under your skin
.
Saghi Ghahraman
King & Dufferin Toronto 2009