Mente Mezcla

Startlingly sexy collections Or recollections   There are some I could name. Apparently in that, we are the same Bueno, puedes decirles en español… Entonces he decidió   That it’s gonna be better in English   This accidental native speaker  Too many lands to blame  The way you were just there Again  So unexpected, despite being conjured  Earned Burn, yearning years  Subtle despair or disrepair  Now that you’ve weathered And I, weathered storms Us here, now Everything back to an unknown norm Tingly, cloyingly warm  Your eye color faded And the distance between Understanding why I left you  with no words  So seemingly mean,  but I mean  …that wasn’t it Protecting me  Me protecting you From too quickly  turning to this new shade of blue Or maybe red,  Back then it was dangerous to be in my bed In this now, however  That was supposed to be never  Just as magnetic, instantaneous Could bar...

I don’t know how to write this And make it right Then again  the perception of wrong  is not mine to own… So here it goes, tea spilled: I rattled off years,  While pointedly exposed  And then afterwards  in its hilarious, delicious digital retelling  To the owner of those years:  1990 something again and again  2000 something again and again Dates transposed  With as much accuracy as possible With the subconscious in charge  In each cell vibration  Its universal return  Like simultaneous sunrises   On different continents Sublime pleasure-scape Over and over, over the years  Pinks building to hot pink Orange, Red Until the sun peaks,  Mellowing the sky Lulling to satiated rest   … Knowing in all this exposure  This isn’t the first time  My escapades led me to The Southern Cross To escape each of those years (Even the ones that hadn’t happened) Yet… There is no deficit,  I have gratitude...

  What do I do now… That the table I set  On which I planned  To devour you again,  whole, Has been cleared? The carefully arranged plates: Lifted away before any course,  Only the golden rimmed chargers  Cotillion perfect table setting  with its linen napkins wrapped  in tidy floral bows  (ready to be unwrapped the same way I intended to unwrap you)   Remain  Not even soup!  Though a cheese plate  with a decent crusty French bread   may have been appropriate to sop up my sap.  At least she left  the Prosecco glass,  Shaped like Marie Antoinette’s Tiny cups  Filled to the brim with a vintage  I should’ve sampled a long time ago So that when the waiter asks,  “Are you doing ok?” I can say yes Think fast enough to cover, recover  …I make a plan to act up As usual,  take a lil sip And leave the rest to fizz out flat When… Surprisingly: the dessert still arrives  And ...