her travels south.
i have my own Mexico story,
but i resist
the temptation
and listen to hers.
she tells me
how hot it was,
the flowers in her hair,
how she danced,
the tequila she drank,
the bandito
she fell love with.
she lifts up her sleeve
and shows me an old
tattoo,
Jaun it reads inside
a flowery heart.
i miss him, she says,
a tear rolling down her
trembling cheek.
it was the best three days
of my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment