Alphabet City

A midnight bolero on the beach,
upright bass, piano, congero,
dos Latinas sing harmony
of lost loves, what could-have-been,
good and bad.

We shuffle our feet bare
through the sand
finding the beat
in the center of our soles
weighty and balanced.

How can one woman
smell and taste so good?

I carry your flavor,
exhale your scent.

We swing, sway
as one, navel
to navel, thigh
to thigh.

On barren shore, in silhouette,
palm to cheek, lips to the long
vein of your throat.

On the downbeat,
small light kisses.

Latinas in minor thirds,
so sad.

The rhythm of the trio
finds the upbeat to its liking
imparts a feel of flight,

of never letting go,
to search but not to find
release.

We are grooved deep in sand,
perfectly slotted, orbits
from millions of eternities,
beneath stars that burn hot
but not away.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

For…