by Liana Scalettar

In 1989 I still knew how to dress. You didn’t know me then; I hadn’t thought I could ever meet you or earn you, I could only buy things and never give over my body’s or soul’s selves to anyone.

On the Via Margutta I leave myself and become this house, that courtyard,
That vin santo all apricot and grasses. Why search for symbols? There, in the perfect glass, rests the mouthful of
Perfect wine.

A nameless boy’s tongue startles me as much as chestnut honies.

• Welcome to Entasis.