Man and woman watch each other lying in bed: <br />their two bodies stretched out wide and exhausted. <br />the man is still, only the woman takes long breaths <br />that quiver her ribs. The legs distended <br />are bony and knotted in the man's. The whispers <br />from the sun-covered street are foisted on them. <br /> <br />The air hangs impalpable in the heavy shadow <br />and freezes the drops of living sweat <br />on the lips. The gazes from the adjoining heads <br />are identical, but they no longer find each other's bodies <br />as when they first embraced. They nearly touch. <br /> <br />The woman's lips move a little, but do not speak. <br />The breathing that swells the ribs stops <br />at the longest gaze from the man. The woman <br />turns her face close to the man's, lips to lips. <br />But the man's gaze does not change in the shadow. <br /> <br />Heavy and still weigh the eyes within eyes <br />at the warmth of the breath that revives the sweat, <br />desolate. The woman does not move her body, <br />supple and alive. The lips of the man come close <br />but the still gaze does not change in the shadow.<br /><br />Cesare Pavese<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/two-42/
