12. Letter to Damianos K.

I sent you so many letters.
No response.
Without answer, I gave up.
Sometimes, talking to you, I write you in my dreams.
I have so much questions. I invent my own responses.
I see you in your native Greece, living from your art.
But these images that I imagine, are parasitized by the ones
Where I see you in your flat from the rue Réaumur.
In this little universe opening on private courtyard
Which made me believe sometimes I was somewhere else,
Out of time.
I remember this morning, drinking tea at your window.
Sharing amused glances with the neighbors around.
Some songs and some fragrances of Chinese cook rising to us.
Simple instants though precious where life seemed so peaceful.
What have you become ?
I have so much to tell. To say that you had right.
That Life is beautiful — and painful too.
But I know now to live it better than when we met.
The men are beautiful like you said it.
Me too, I have drunk some heady wines to the soul of the last drop,
And caressed hair drunk with perfumes of Orient and Occident,
And skins with shivers of jet-black, jasmin, amber and dreams.
I have caressed and tasted the soft salt of their sweats and nourishment
Whose the spices branded the palate and the taste bud of memory,
And some tender sweats,
And the flesh of unimaginable fruits coming from the four parts of the world.

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