The waves found me laying alone on that dark faraway beach, Miguel’s Maria de Guadalupe medallion broken in my right palm, my face bruised by tears and scratched by humid sand, waiting for the miracle of Christmas to heal my never-ending pain.
Anabella who sold papers
cries because her lover left
my soul hurts
my eyelids close
her hand is dry
into her painful voice
there is no bottom
it is dark
how many tears
did she cry?
first published in The Literati Mafia
tango me through wars and tears
until you sew my wounds and crack my lips
until children running in the streets
touch my body with their fears.
tango me through narrow hidden alleys
in which eternal lovers passionately kissed
against the coolness of gray walls in summer nights
play with my dreams like children play with kites.
tango me into your battered soul
until we feel the pain of ancient knives
teach me the moves of mystic loves
and tango me until the end of life.