They play drums after midnight in the catacombs

Spain reminds me of a sad woman at night

Her eyes are wet with words she’ll not reveal

He sits watching soccer, the TV turned up to a roar, stained rage in his balled fists

While we find the instrument of each other in electric touch

As I dress, you reach your arms above your head

Small shoulders, long neck, your breasts look like half moons

The eclipses of your hip bones push urgently into my hair like gilded laments

The night has bloomed and the outside smells of street food and liquor, chasing through city trees

I trace the thick lids of your eyes and try to find the perfect word for their caramel smoothness

Spain makes me ache when I return

Looking for your anklet and the fall of your hair as Summer rain cuts off sound

We say goodbye through glass

Your last words; I didn’t know Spain cried.

8 Replies to “Vidrio”

  1. If I could really carve out what it feels to ache and long then I would love to, because it’s the fire in our belly isn’t it? xo Thank you dearling

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