11:14 a.m.
monday eve —
bedroom to somewhere
in the sea, year 2014
***
i want it. yes.
i need it. true.
it's that craving
that kept me up
last night. the
craving that kept
hunger on clawing
at the tissues
that mother has
built inside of me.
now, it's marred
and tangled like
one of my sewing
threads.
i looked up. the
gleam of his brown
orbs calling unto me.
the waves i could
smell. salty like
those moonlight
toasts i eat. blue —
the replica of the
sky that held the
billion graveyards
of the stars.
i am sitting. here.
the sails of the boat
were swimming
from the wind that
carried us to the
unknown. he sailed.
a sailor in the middle
of the chaos of the
waves and the sun's
warm light.
we spoke naught to
each other. the silence
was enough to hear
each other's thoughts.
both peaceful — unlike
the last time. so, this is
the true journey he
promised me.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Poesía"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
