El uno, el dos, el tres

This simple, free verse is dedicated to yestereve, three years ere, when all the leaves were shed, and the trees stood bare and shameless beside... to the woman of fire, bailando a su aire... to unconditional love - may it be borne lightly!

Mujer!

No apagues la llama de tu falda,
que los hilos no son cenizas aún;
temblando de frío sobre la alfombra.

Y no dejes de bailar, que los callos
no han aún silenciado tus dos pies,
ni ha dejado la rosa tu pelo.

No pares tu corazón, ni lo muevas;
déjalo pasar, que él haga camino
y también te lleve del monte al mar...


Kind thanks to Alicia Murcia for her permission to display her art.

Hablemos de la lluvia

It falls upon woven shawl, failed yet faithful turban. Your vine knots about mine, ice wine brews itself in smiles but knows not lips. Gentile Autumn winds, collected leaves fallen and pressed between leaves, where we write innocent secrets shared:

The tangos we're not meant to take, the fox-trots of our Steppenwolves, and the imperative of silence, night and song. The countless Spanish words begging to measure the distance between our beats and steps, never making ends meet.

My doré miss of penchants, Nefertiti, queen of spades masquerading as nails, pressing into my wrist, drawing forth sweat of shyness. Countless strands of silky force betwixt the growing palms outstretched of honest hombre y hembra. Let our shared skin speak, let our sighs linger dancing in the air, life pass through the labyrinth of our fingertips, fly on waxy wings as high as the heat of hearts allows.

“Mignon”, ton paraplu carmin disparaît dans la distance...