Red Spots On The Full Moon

Through the crackling of Valencian fireworks,
Dance for me in the Andalusian way,
To the sounds of guitars and castanets,
You whose rump is like
The clear fountain where the bulls
Of Estremadura drink,
Like the flame which gleams in the depths of your eyes,
Like a silver sickle
With which they reap the ears of wheat,
Like a red spot on the full moon,
Like a round wooden plough,
Like a rounded acacia,
Like a nest of broom
Where stork eggs hatch,
Like a giant gleaming purple plum,
Like an enormous peach flower,
Like the ocean into which the Guadalquivir flows,
After crossing a sea of orchards,
And, last of all, like the evening star
Shining in a starry October night!

Yes, your large very beautiful rear
Summons in me all the lust
I can offer to a young woman,
With the red roses of my heart,
That high place of the wildest love,
The love which thinks it can possess, together with a woman’s flesh,
Her soul!

So, to warlike Castille,
Austere and bare,
I prefer the laughing Andalucia of your body
And the Arabia of your passionate soul!

FROM THE COLLECTION OF POEMS "TACHES ROUGES SUR LA PLEINE LUNE"

PUBLISHED IN FRANCE BY EDITIONS ENCRES VIVES,
COLL. LIEU, ESPAGNE.
JANUARY 2013