druxy
“I think about you. But I don’t say it anymore.”
your hand in mine, the
table besotted by fallen
flowers. trees spread the
season and whisper haikus
with each fallen blossom.
cold white wine in egg
shaped glasses, manchego,
pan con tomate, cabrales
with honey, and a small
ceramic dish of tapenade.
you feed the rust-colored
dog thin slices of chorizo.
whose dog? no one replies.
the canine obeys, its dark
eyes a mirror for what is.
sacred architecture, all that
we ruin will eventually be
rebuilt. I hear lighters snap
from the rubble; their stories
sound too much like mine.
cardboard carpets decant at
the boundary of a decaying
cathedral. its door a gaping
hole like the hearts of its
occupants. midsummer
love is a quadratic equation;
a hit-and miss method. is it
sentiment that creates divide
or expectation? spreadsheets
of the soul—full of questions.
I fling my heart into the hands
of lovers like the orange cat in
the temple, peeping from cracks
in the rock, walking the edge.
sharp paws carving balance.
darkness settles, the wine too
warm to drink. take away,
muchísimo tiempo. girls cry
glitter and whisper haikus
with each fallen kiss.
Photo source.
