staring at your tresses
I wonder if you
are fantastically drawn
pretty again

or just a
girlish twitter
held by mocking
brown spiky
limbs
and social
proclivities
never usual
to dissipate
in hot mexican
sun.

sometimes
late at night
I correct my
floppy
relationship
back into its
heated
encumber

watching our
tune play
remorseful spicy
beats of courage -

through ebony
colored drapes
a lilac breezy dress
is tied tight
at the tiny expanse
of a concave
backbone

you shiver against
my palm as I tuck
a gold hoop
cuddling the swell
of your earlobe

I imagine the back
of your almost
feline shape
on its legs
roaring with
luminous prose
about your
beauty

the flash fades like
whisky olives from
your grandfathers
old cedar bin -

tonight we
will stand upon
a golden rustic
mexico with
old weeds in
our fingers and
good-bye clouds
aging on us

knowing the
performance
will consist
of mink
collected with
silver tuxes

where circles
of people grip
music and
sing for the
antique of
marriage -

I close the
door waiting
for you to finish
another sparkle
of eyeliner

as you beam.

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