I see her jump into the pool.
”Vega Libre” she shouts,
with ink falling off her body
turning the water into oil.
Each of her auburn hairs swaying
like dancing reeds in the wind,
with her eyes so deep they could sink ships.
And a butterfly comes to rest on my landscaped palm,
it winks at me like the truth.
Nature knows all my sins.
It walks across the canyons of my skin
and flys away into wind loops,
of time and space and summer,
knowing ever more than I.
And my eyes, stinging in the bleeding flares of the sun,
all swolen and blistered,
follow her. There she stands;
the black beauty.
And with her mouth,
as she lays on my naked chest,
she paints my labium a gothic charcoal.
And all the blood in my arteries stampedes
like prayed upon wilder-beast,
through the annals of my cerebrum,
into my ill tempered fingers,
and the ink runs off the tip of my tongue,
until the tip of my pen.