My Dear Readers,
the night of candlelight and wine a collaboration with Francisco Bravo Cabrera, an artist whose work I admire tremendously. Please visit Francisco’s site here
A rose with thorns you wrap around my wrist
I tie your eyes with scents of mandarins
your heartbeats spiral red Cabo de Palos winds
your touches gallop on my wildest dreams
Valencia, garden where the lovers meet
where statues chant the prayers of the hours
and where some other winds,
perhaps the winds of Lent, not ours
will lift Mediterranean sands so we can’t see,
sighs of the future that the two of us could be …
Their hands clap bulerías por soleá
you and I, the same passion, we move to the same rhythm
your eyes undress a Carthaginian fountain
my hands undress a shadow, is that you?
we die in love as we had died before
in photographs that are not ours
in the port of Cartagena where we’ve never met
blindfolded looking for each other
like hedonistic lovers in the nights of carnival
we speak in languages known only by the flesh
this is the night of candlelight and wine
the night of gaps between the piccolos and tubas
you touch me with a branch of olives
I mark your skin with colored glass
until the morning rises from the sea
and thus…
Valencia, look what’s happening to people like us
I tie your eyes with scents of mandarins
your heartbeats spiral red Cabo de Palos winds
your touches gallop on my wildest dreams
Valencia, garden where the lovers meet
where statues chant the prayers of the hours
and where some other winds,
perhaps the winds of Lent, not ours
will lift Mediterranean sands so we can’t see,
sighs of the future that the two of us could be …
Their hands clap bulerías por soleá
you and I, the same passion, we move to the same rhythm
your eyes undress a Carthaginian fountain
my hands undress a shadow, is that you?
we die in love as we had died before
in photographs that are not ours
in the port of Cartagena where we’ve never met
blindfolded looking for each other
like hedonistic lovers in the nights of carnival
we speak in languages known only by the flesh
this is the night of candlelight and wine
the night of gaps between the piccolos and tubas
you touch me with a branch of olives
I mark your skin with colored glass
until the morning rises from the sea
and thus…
Valencia, look what’s happening to people like us
read my 2019 Spillwords Author of the Year interview here
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)
image: Eki, by Francisco Bravo Cabrera, oil on canvas, 40x50cm
