Sutileza de expresión en ella me inspira

Mientras da golpes expertos a las castañetas

Sincronizada su tarea con su casi sonrisa

Tiempo a paso perfecto con truenos del guitarrista

El delicado baile entre ellos me quita la pena

Como la delicada flor que tapa su oreja





I have tried to put into words, as efficiently and concisely what I would say if ever asked

I believe in forever. I believe in the promise

I do not want to disqualify myself from seeing paradise

If I did go through with the thoughts that override, I would be disqualified

Wrecked would be the hope to taste what a true friendship would be with you

If because my hope is anchored by this, I happened to be recused

I can live with that, but not with the thought that I may have made you subject for execution

I will not approach, unless asked. I will not gaze upon you, unless given permission

I will wait for a million years, if that is what it takes, for the perfect conditions

This is what I would say:

I want to be a perfect friend to you some day


Lover of Fashion

How obediently you turned to me when I called your name gently but firmly. Your steps did not falter as your course they did alter, on cue, so that I again could be face to face with you

I needed a reason, a ruse, an excuse for my summon, so I asked about a friend in common, I hadn’t seen for a while

And as you responded with your smile, which I allege is only for me, I was able to focus on the true cause of my entreaty

A green I had never seen, but which is now my favorite shade of green. I remember musing as you were yet speaking, how I would sacrifice my right index finger, to just once feel the texture of your drab green sweater



The weather changed like a backdrop exchanged with black for white, allowing renewed appreciation of the foreground subject matter.

Like the sun positioned exactly opposite of where it had been when the picture was taken of you wearing a pensive face, motionless, punctuated by your tomato red sweater.

The seasons change making our spirit seem more stark, more naked, though remaining the same.

Robbed of our crutch, our pill, the transition in our d.n.a., bereft and seething; rogue and renegade.

No spring, no autumn, making the thorn we bear throb with greater magnitude, punctuated by the bitter backdrop of cold, dark, night.




What is not tinted with you

Is tainted with the

Ebb and flow of this

World’s mechanized rust

Which causes me to blush

Upon the thought of

A Show-and-Tell session

With God and his angles

As audience


A stroll

Down highways

Having tolls

Which excise no tribute

To elegance or order

Upon petroleum wheels

That roll


We are witness

To the carnage system decreed

By a deity who is appeased only

When it’s pilgrims achieve

Full bellies


Abandoned concrete yards

With oxidized apparatuses


To knock down our

Red chambers two notches

While we wish away civilization

Which capsized just outside

The civil circle

Which inside is tinted with

Rose and yellow

And the contrast of

Black against white

And  with the
breath of you