Simple, yet complicated

Simple, yet complicated:

Ideas, coffee,
talks of poetry
hair, eyes, lips,
and stories
not yet certain.

Refusing to be defined,
accepting, rejecting,
yet delighting
possibilities,
glances, ideas
and sensual chats.

Today I saw her,
glimmering,
her red lips
voluptuously desiring,
yet the mind
rejecting,
fighting.

Moral trepidations
between her
and her mind,
yet her skin
desiring,
her womb
swelling,
her lips
watering.

Simple, yet complicated.

An Old Friend

I met an old friend 

From not too long ago:

Eclectic chats

Within unimaginable

shadows,

Of an artistic being

That I think I know;

Between shadows 

Of a nation,

In a leg that I 

cannot see. 

An undefined number

In her wrist,  

An inverted cross 

Crawling her forearm 

All of these and more, 

Between a green

And mustard 

Sweater,

There she was.

Her eyes piercing 

The light,

Her smile transcending

The atmosphere. 

Between this and that 

And a cat, 

And a walk

And more 

And nothing more. 

All suffices:

To imagine the shadow

In her back, 

That I cannot see;

The curtain,

The window,

The white alpaca 

Blanket,

Her skin,

And more 

And nothing more. 

A Raven Night

A Raven Night

What would they know?

My voice was shouting

Across the room an empty cross

To professed the crossing paths

That have awaken humanity:

The Love Song of T.S Eliot

Was drowned among the fools

That giggled and refused

To listen to its questions;

Whitman, at times, was thought

To be obscene among the puritans

And the half sleep that will wake

When sinful nouns forced their morals

And ethics to its crisis;

I sipped my wine and shouted louder

Verde que te quiero verde

While they continued numbly listening;

Then, La Casada Infiel and an intimate

Bullfight personal reflexion;

And I shouted louder and louder

Until I drowned all the noises,

The giggles, the ridiculousness;

The wine was blood

The flesh consumed

The cross erected

The fools gone.

What would they know!

I once had a dream...

I once had a dream...

             I once had oxygen,

             I had a Dancing Serpent

             I, we, rained with fire.

             I, we, extended our existence together.

             Dreaming and reality was the same,

             the sheets, the covers, the forces of nature,

             the magic sand, the beach--not yet forgotten--

             the warm of your womb, the wind blowing,

             the kiss under the waves;

             the canary dying for us at Leo,

             were our dreams and reality.

             The magical reality was us,

              the magical dream was we:

              “it was such a beautiful dream”,

               and I, we, did not protected it,

               “from any remnants” of a cruel reality.

               Are we safe to be real, or is it time

               to prolong and protect the dream,

               before it kills us completely ? That is,

               if it is not already dead!

                                               

               I live to dream and die,

               and if I have died my dream,

               then to live without dreaming

               is to already be dead alive.

.                                               ... and then we killed it… for another.

Dream One

Dream One:

I walked through my past and
saw the images and shadows,
Of a fragmented life;
Recapturing the essence of my being
in a pointless collection
Of memories;
The bricks were the pages
Of an unwritten childhood,
The pictures were testaments
Of a dream long gone,
The struggles were part
Of a reality,
And surviving was
The constant up-and-down.

I saw my self as
I see myself now:
Out of my body
Into my being,
Reflected in a memory
Not yet acquired,
Accepting the universe,
Questioning life.

One day I may see again
the pictures of today
Reflected into a past
Not yet known,
And I will question again,
Submerged into my being
Collecting myself again
In the palm of my hands.

Her

The mundane pulled me aside
And I drowned in silence;
The reasonable and rhetorical
Explained the non-beings:
Planning was in order
And tribulations
Were the order of things.

But: I could not stop thinking
How the moon was orbiting
The contours of her body;
The wine reaching my being
Embracing her with drops
Of tainted and desired sin

Succumbed to possibilities
I was in the wine
The wine in her
Quenching our thirst,
Satiating not.

Background conversations
Of Adam and Eve,
The latter was a perfection
Of all things and creatures
Created for God himself;

Adam was the abomination;
The son of God and Eve
Who seduced his mother
And committed the original sin.

The wine continued
And I intuited myself
In every pour of her skin
Dipped in red wine
Commemorating her creation.

The conversations drowned:
The black and white image
Consolidated herself in me,
The blouse dropped
And I died a sweet death.

The mundane never came back.