Le Notti Bianche (Visconti, 1957)

You’re like a lazy waltz, or a careless shoe thrown from a fancied lover. Never with feeling are your actions. They are cold clumsy thumpings on the floor. So many have lost themselves in your naive smiles, and gaped mouth laughs at their meek forms of chivalry, doing anything they can to contain the impassioned beast you charm. You mock us all, telling us we are not the worthy one, and I am the fool that bares a slight resemblance to the shadowy memory of the one who was.

Where is this chiseled lover your jaw stays so clenched for? He promised you all the fairytale drama to make your legs weaken. He’ll kiss the dimple on your chin and allow you the intimacy of his skin as he reaches for the light above your head. Is he just a rippled fantasy in dulled shallow waters? I would love to watch him melt you, even if it leaves me face down in the muck with only a muddy-eyed glimpse of you walking away.

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