My dear Pasqualino,
You are, as you know, my favorite ephebe among all the Taormina lads who surrounded Wilhelm von Gloeden, at the beginning of the XXth century...
When I visited Taormina, in the '80s of the XXth century, you were still alive... You were an old man, and perhaps I met you in the streets of Taormina, or at a trattoria or a bar, drinking a cappucino or a grappa... You were during most of your life a gardener, and if I am well informed, you were the gardener of the San Domenico Hotel, which was previously a monastery with an infamous cloister, where Gloeden shot so many pics of nude boys....
I have many portraits of you, in your blossoming years, and I always loved your so expressive face, with those great eyes, this curly brune hair...
You were, and you still are, the ideal ephebe of Greek poets and philosophers, and I am sure Theocritus or Euripides, Socrates or Plato would have noticed you... I am sure they would have written erotic epigrams about you... Such a cute teen boy would have inspired Strato while writing the poems of his Mousa Paidiké...
We are already in 2017, January the 6th... You are now dust and ashes in the cemetery of Taormina, and next time I will travel to Sicily, I will visit you and offer you flowers from the Taormina's mountains...
I will also drink a glass of Sicilian red wine, and I will pour a few drops on your grave, while reciting a few verses from Euripides' Bacchae...
Don't worry, my dear Pasqualino... There is someone who remembers the blossoming boy you were...
There is someone who is still in love with you....
I love you, Pasqualino....
Butterfly
