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4 de Septiembre, 2007

Like Mango on the Edge of a Knife

Categorized under Palabras , Poesía | Tags:

SO WHAT SHALL IT BE THIS EVENING, my love? Shall we sip upon the News? Shall we touch upon this beaded thread of manufactured muse? Or shall it be time like wine, talk heady and sweet? Fingertips like sunbeams stirring honey in the deep? Pulse that flexes a submerged wall of wax and comb and loam and meat...

Shall we weave our aching shadows and join the nightly parade? Shall we open our pulse to the heartbeat machine spreading bone-winged shapes in a deep magenta shade? Shall we paint our inbetweens with earth tones or with neon? Give kisses that simmer like a slick of cayenne, or float and frost like a flower of freon?

Let us divide our distance tonight like mango on the edge of a knife, let the juices bleed over the skin of a static-imagined life. And your water will feed my sky like the blood will feed the skin. Let the separation slide to the side, let the outside come tumbling in.

And you and I. We've always been. Impossible lovers in a land of never ending rain.

You watch their mouths so closely, never knowing what they mean. Three mandarin moons on the back of a found letter and an unforgettable and recurring dream. Retreating alleyways, falling keys.

A girl who hands out fliers like red stock market fire, thrice-deleted decoupage confessions rolling like tears down a ruby wire. But that, of course, remains between her and I. Secrecy for hire. Only soft kisses and pink chalk dust at dawn. And her gleaming face like a well-polished doll.

What dangerous map does she keep under such gentle eyelids? The one that brought her into my reach?

Oh, laughing silver-skinned girl with the black, dense curls, you're a half-cocked cowboy in an assembly line forest fire. I'm traveling right behind, don't mind. I'm shadowboxing a gold orchestra of historical and righteous crime. I'm wielding green and rigid brushes as I mark up the belly of the mothership sky. And as always, I practice your name. And as always, I'm keeping time. Across the creased cheek of my last treasure map are red letters that spell out your name. I've been crazy since the night they took most of you away.

 The Unapologetic Mexican has been known to scribble a few things besides meandering, verbose, self-congratulatory blog posts. However, they are rarely as fun. Finally, let it be known that Nezua first dared bust out this Habanero of Truth at exactly 7:37 AM.  | Top | View blog reactions