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.
Awesome! Great job on this poem!
Dear Carol Anne thank you so much!
Does it rain sometimes because there are more tears than mere mortal eyes can hold? It feels so.
No problem, you’re very welcome 💐😘
Such sadness.
This is so deep I almost drowned in it.
That deeply conveys ache and longing. It made my solar plexus shudder.
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