Wednesday, September 12, 2012

dulce de brevas

i find her voice
still coats the expanse of my skin
like fresh panela
made with an abuelita's touch
as the last stars of the night
tip their hats
and somehow
i can tell that she still savors me
like warmed figs upon the tongue
during an autumn chill
her full lips
stretching to tell the oncoming sunrise
'see? this is how
one remembers a lover's sweetness.'