so (oh)
bittersweet
to come and go.

so (oh)
gorgeous
are the souls.

so (oh)
beautiful
is the scenery.

so (oh)
bittersweet
to have to leave.

16 mayo (antigua)

i found m------ in a bed of yellow
sleeping
and at the same moment
fighting the clock for more tocks.

he told me last night
that there was a thing called "time"
and that all we could ever do
is wait.

the rising of the sun and
rotation of the earth
said as much.

16 mayo (antigua)

his voice is the sound of the birds and the trees
singing to the sunset.
his electric hands
warm you from your organs out,
pours melodies down
from the roots of your hairs
down to the callouses of your feet.

he is all your favourite colours.

12 mayo

he, who sleeps on concrete,
by melody,
by the way the trees breathe.

he, who speaks in baritone,
in whispers,
into the marrow of your bones.

he
plays the nostalgia of street lights,
the coming and goings of curious, late nights.

7 mayo

his long, blonde hair
covers half his brow
which looks quite like
that sweet baby face of the Dreamers.

last night at sleepy hollow,
he danced with closed eyes,
kept the brightness of the light away from his blues.
we held each other*s hands
and he spun around, either
remembering or forgetting

28 abril

so sweet to hear the night
all alone
as its procession plays the soft
chirping of crickets, the barking of
feral dogs, the buzzing of
beetles.

it plays to the rhythm of guatelupe¨s flame
and the burning of incense blessed by an unknown monk.

this chorus is the waxing moon¨s
and yours alone.

30 abril

she's so 1969,
so brightly veiled in the next phase

she only has eyes and ears for you and
your wayside stories
and toasts the good life
with an ice-cold moza raised to the sky

17 abril

she asked about you and i said i was still in
but that my eyes still wandered about,
never know where to look.
sometimes they move up towards the
23rd parallel
searching but don't really find anything.
and when i hear voices that remind
me of the sound of your telephone voice,
it brings me back to last summer,
of falling.
so i guess it really means that i'm still
idle in a way
, but only when it comes to things
that i haven't put enough miles in between.
maybe if i settle at the point that is furthest
from where your rest your head,
then

19 abril

she has healing hands
nurses wounds and pain
with her hands, fingertips.

she infuses your aching skin with
oils pressed from the flora of the
earth

9 abril

la luna es llena
lit the whole way home
and into bed where i
just wanted to close my eyes.

i could hear you laugh
from underneath those lights,
as i walked backwards on a hill
to see if i could see the shape of pedro's face
(barely).

the streets echoed
as they shouted, "otra! otra!"
while you beat your strings for all those bodies
ready to move
to the shake of your gypsy voice.

7 abril