In Turin

In Turin,
i first noticed the tiny skin mole
relaxing circumspect near your left breast
and it became a fascination for me.
the mole, however, was initially not so disarmed.
i offered it a taste of my wine, and after our
first few glasses together, the mole became confident that i meant
it no harm.  i then handed the mole a full bottle.
without distraction, i continued my inspection of your breast,
but the mole said i had an interesting face and wanted to do a portrait of me,
so i moved to your other breast, and the fact that i could no longer
hear the mole clearly comforted me, as though a great stress had been lifted.
i'm relying on memory and i think it's accurate, that the mole began to tease me
in a louder voice for having an ugly nose, a Greek nose instead of a little Italian button one,
and that made it difficult for me to exploit my new found position as curator of your
lovely breasts, both of which i would soon want to marry.
as soon as the mole fell asleep, fumbling the glass, spilling a few drops of wine, yet
nothing too serious, i picked up a pencil and paper, first to exploit
the literary possibilities of a talking mole, and second,
to record how kind you are to me in my hunger.