Ballet and Poetry

My life changed. I am alone a-g-a-i-n! Love doesn’t live here any more. At least the kind of love I know.

Today I met a Mozambican-Russian girl. Even though she is a university graduate, she earns her life by working as manicurist and make-up artist. She told me the only way to forget an old love is by finding a new one…

Probably she is right. For now I stick with dancing and poetry. They are good company. I returned to ballet and for the next two weeks I have to decide if I want to pursue that challenge or find a different one.

As for poetry, I read some words recently… They could easily be meant for me:

Than This
There is nothing
I want more
than this.
Your hair
a dark storm
on a white sheet.
Your body
beneath my hands.
Your heart
beating fast
for this moment.
There is nothing
I want more
than you.


And what about this one?

(…) I am no longer young.

My hair is silver. It has been since my thirties. I could once blame my mother’s genes but now the passing years are undeniably the cause. My face is lined and weathered. A testament to brave, foolish, glorious years spent in hot sun, or roughened by winter weather on high mountain slopes, or by salty winds on rough-hewn cliffs.

But also by too much business. Too many decisions. Too many late nights, doing deals.

I am no longer young.

I am not a stallion, claiming to perform like a beast. I am not rippling with muscle, bristling with masculinity, rampant with testosterone, raging with impatience, resplendent with body art, thrusting like an animal, pacing like a tiger.

I am no longer young.

My desires are darker, more cerebral, more intellectual, more driven by beauty, by control, by patience, by discipline, by a deep knowledge of your desires that you can barely guess at.

I am no longer young.

But I promise you this.
No one can make you sigh, make you dance, make you ache, make you writhe, make you sing,
Like I can.