Mente Mezcla

  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 ...

You asked why I wore My hair on top of my head  Rather than down as you prefer  And while it wasn’t an order,  You used the same mouth that breathed    Lost life into me just days before to say it,  Sucking it right back out.  A Mermaid’s curse My generational instinct to comply, Acquiesced to the request  To think less of myself,  Even if your intention  Was to make me feel more free  To throw my comfort  to the nonexistent breeze,  Shaking out each curl  Medusa power  as you speculated it could only be  Performative to have it leashed,  Taming my wild  Against our heat,  Not because: I just like it that way…  I’ve lived so many lifetimes in this one  Discrediting myself That I know I can’t risk any more  As it feels like my siren song is waning  So I put you in the file marked casual  and casually think to myself  with as much nonchalance  as I’ll ever...

I have a thing  For a very specific type of face I need lips that match mine And skin that makes moonlight Seem as if it exists just for its bronze glow  Visages of ancestors etched  In smiles and tears alike  Ya know? Just that, simplicity  The things that make fleeting moments Seem less harrowing More seared and stitched  Like leather  And tight denim pockets Hands stuffed inside, too afraid to loose Their grip on one moment Feet so lofty  They float out of cowgirl boots  Cosplaying the West together  Heads turn to us from every direction Those who count time,  But never accounted for beauty like ours  Friendship like ours  Timeless It’s disturbing, yet validating  12 years in the making -  17 spinning suns distant  This:  It will be quick,  Mortal accountant math considered… But when the universe speaks loudly, When it gives you one lil Chance  And then another much different one You have t...