What he wants is my blood.
He sucks my arteries every night,
filling to the brim
his greedy stomach of aspiration.
Literary anecdotes, sagas from
four continents, funny stories,
Latin proverbs, belly laughter,
memories of encounters
with Le Clézio, Patti Smith ...
We talk. His eyes drilling,
ears growing fans,
his snout-shaped mouth.
For dinner I get,
your brilliant mind matches mine,
we are the only two
of the kind in Galway.
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