fans over knobs

She was right, you do resemble the moon.
A vision. Dim light
The opening of a mouth, a door, a soul
I reach my fingers through your corridors
“Am I interrupting?” 

It’s a delicate space, pink rooms filled with glass
The tip of my toes trying hard not to touch them 
I was never one to make love poems, anyways.
But I do understand doors, I promise
The opening of hands
The interruption of my breath
“You were saying…?”

It’s the end of scene twenty four
“Can I come in?”
The opening of a window, a road, my legs
I shouldn't ramble, I feel like I am
What I mean is
I want to plant gardenias in your hair and fill your edges with my scent
And it will be quiet and soft and you will barely feel it

Let’s think about this rationally:
It couldn’t be peonies, you know? 
They would be too loud, too bright 
I’m picky when it comes to flowers and I guess I know you
Within me, in me

It’s a tender space, these walls, my throat
Light breeze opening the curtains
Writing poems without rage  

It’s cold in here but I made room for you 
Have you? 
Pink rooms filled with flowers
fans over knobs
What’s on your mind?
Open the window, Heathcliff.

Lavínia Vianini is a 25 year-old poet, translator and teacher. With a Bachelor's degree in English/Portuguese, her Academic research focused on poetry written by women, which later allowed her to receive a scholarship in comparative literature. She lives in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.