Was it that difficult to love him at first sight
Or the fact that husbands back in those days
Visited brothels that looked like cafe’s
Diego was his name wasn’t it
Is he the reason why mother still runs with her fate
I prefer to seek long arm chairs who speak
Medicating the idols my idols with talks who ruined
I no longer mumble to rosaries I dream of you instead
I dream of your art caressing my face
July 5 1923 ~ February 5 1998
Reddish knobs beckoning this space.
Where sunlight Gods congregate.
Do you still love my burning face.
Say you do. Touch you do. Love you do.
Across the fields stomping your breast.
Your heart noise making this delirious prose.
For the occult between your toes fleeting away.
Where you ever a man. Asleep I remembering you were.
Making pain of slender wrist. Now you are woman lovely throat. Perfect and most frail. With my breathing twitching lips gruesome telling your fate to awake. For our handmirrors. For our sharpest rings. Lady songs quietly dressed opening golden phrases for everyone to see. Clothing our invisible living evermore.
