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| La Habana, Cuba |
You don't play, but you keep cheating.
Every smile, tidal spum,
turquoise gaze, possessive trait,
electric touch, without a meaning.
Lips melting by the rain,
sixth floor: where there's no help,
blooming hopes, refreshing gloom,
looming sunset,
idealization.
Cold blood demanding sun,
flare of glaze fixed to the river,
deafening joy sieved by narcissi,
allergy to commit or truth.
Palm heat diffused inwards,
transforming lead into lees:
surge, wrinkled nose,
blaze and dissipation.
At the end of the day,
the lesson is the same:
the present always was.
Here, take the narcissi home,
set them on the table to accompany your role.
Name them, caress while the sun dispels,
tell them about your day and your loves,
bathe them in tales before sleeping.
The game restarts and narcissi remain.
