Radical discourse of knots doing desperate living
Tales foreshadowing flaming moths to our loving ropes
Slowly warping the warm plates of this dé-sa-yu-no
Threatening to blow each sprinkle off our buttered toasts*
And if they do
Then I can guarantee
That on lonches twice
every other week
Will be
Tres Gul-pes Jévy (Heavy)
w. pickled onions on every plate
not only will they hit the spot
but give us the strength we need
As now I am in-transit
Indebted
without enough to properly veil those lovely bones
but just enough for that which matters
In the now
whether roof, food or phone
To which your response would be justified
Should you lose your patient form
and skip the queue
golden pheasant
Cleverly zipping a line
from the edge of our present scene
to the end of a Styrofoam cup
hoping that in 5 years forward
you con las canas (Ka-nas)
will pick up
And in the foreground hopefully
Me with the laughter
If not
Then making sounds in the background
In the voicemail recordings
of our shared lives
 
Nothing wrong to want to know if we can valse
even when we Kizomba, or Zouk
To pivot on the ball of your foot
instead of your toes
To seek a secure tile on an uneven floor
A step in a sequence of clandestine breathes
before the bigger essay is voiced
To start over or refresh
A lucid decision to forgo a vivid dream
or double down on a mutual belief, a shared hope

Notes:
*Referring to Hagelslag (NL), the Dutch breakfast treat
Desayuno (Esp):  Breakfast
Lonches (loan-chez) (Esp.): Lunches
Tres Gulpes (Goal-pes) (Esp.) = (literally) 3 hits: Here referring to the Dominican Dish
Jévy (Do.): Substantive, cool
Canas (Esp) = white/grey/silver hair
Valse (Fr): Waltz

I sighed relieved by pocket lint
Best to be spending
Locally,
stand steadily
Planning,
planted in place 
By choice 
Than be displaced
swept up by the lucrative swell
of this inevitable wave
Extending up from the southern bush, the bridge
the origins of this foreign catalyst from out of state
Familiar airs but not always the same
 
But seldom are extremes helpful,
Affluence is not the dirtiest word
not the char in the monochrome spectrum
Especially if more green is used for our shared garden
Especially if more is invested in clean water
to rinse the sanguine earth for everyone who's mined here
But if the jewels that are surfaced then on
are only for the hands of a novel few to keep
Then know that when they effortlessly gloat, gleam and sparkle
Its because they are rich in the most tangible immoral minerals
And that is a dire set of fotos
when that poverty has a long exposure
without the flash
Highlighting those underserved structures
without the cash
showing a particular stress on the frame
but also those talents who juggle the struggle
That piece the meal through their honest hustle
Know that your pictures
are also deeply rich in detail
your character's resilient fatigues captured
In the golden ratio
Know that our spiritual health is strong
Our history reflected
in the passing of beams
Our lumen glow in the yonder
breaks from vehicles streak
Connote a wider aperture
There's more depth to this field
from which to grow new plants
More hands to carve from mud
More sun and time to craft
mounds to stand and pitch
Advocate for more than lint
Have control
For a better future of different shades

Bare hands cup, scratch, caress and play
Skin stretched pairs wail endlessly
Exhausted tamboras* crawling bass
Reached the mercy of her extroverted toes
That drag humble Heels 👠 
To where the intermission’s pause
the silken voice's burst with energetic song

"La luna llena
no te da ni por las piernas",
"La luna llena
no te da ni por los pies"

Melodically before salsing sideways
Zigzagging back into the mist
Carlyle's azúcas scent mixed with sweat drips
condescend soft sheen of ruffled shoulders, opulent feathered bands,
keen constitutions, Cobalt collars, accented foreign lands
Noted, pastel pink lips now rouge w. Emotive envy,
White fur to blue pants striped and pleated eagerly
Drawn assemblance^ at a reoccurring chance
To see a gem gleaming in a distant tunnel
A Lucid reach at a red thighed mirage
La Tina's firm Legs stride sternly by
Below the sharpest hip swings
Divorcing the hopeless fanatics hands from the copa**
Severing the romantic fingers
that had also sewn the cabana rug 
Some of which she'll also cut
Alone or with somebody, someone
before the end of the night
Notes:

Tamboras (Esp.) : Drums
Assemblance: Used here in reference to it's meaning as an art concept, but also 
as a play on assemble and semblance
Copa (Esp./ Por.) : Cup, Worldcup , fine drinking glass

DLH-Rubia

One can’t help but notice
Gleaming in the reach of Manhattanhenge
My old friend’s favorite pastry
A sun-kissed magnet to metal legs
Drawn to your bench of pine
I summon batting courage to your base
” You’re astonishingly blonde” I exclaimed
Not that you’re not beautiful,
wild curly front to unstoppable waves
In shades, bodacious w. coffee in hand!
But if I took that beaten path again,
Rushing hours down this frequent route
You the passenger to my compliment-ship
Would curl at the corner of heaven and earth,
your lips to hurl from mouth,
daggers of heated insults
Reducing the most rounded dancer
To two-and-fro steps
But instead
These notes cracked a smirk
Beneath there A smile
I sighed relieved by pocket lint
Grabbing at the vacant space
Where the potential misfires would’ve been
But these Holes still manifest
as you elaborate in the foreground
on that exuberance from California
Divulging details of blonde expense
The frequency of which ends are routinely cut by quarters
in quarterly appointments
I don’t feel your cosmopolitan pains though
But understand the plight to seek
satisfying remedies
alternative therapies
That yield more than content
And yet
Cost less than the beaten troupes of
arm and leg
But dismayed by the state
Of maintenance as it stands
Out of league out of range
I bid good luck and good day by hand
Finessing the brim with finger tip
To tip this invisible hat toward
This flashy foreign sunray

 

note:

Rubia (Esp) = Blonde

De Largo Haleine-The Isle of Heart Content 1

They say if you peruse the page
You begin to read between the lines
But what to do when a magestic
sun-kissed landscape
is presented?
What else is there But
take in her canvas’ gilded edges,
To pedal and drift way below beneath
where the traveled easel and floor meet
To the upper middle segment
staring, where vivid pools of two glaciers peak
Then further Up to the top
Where the gold is locked
in the very real and abstract
Where the route through the aisles of friendship lack
clear single &/ or guide,
But that which you positioned
to be the correct way

To the Isle of your heart’s content

What to do when in route
your rapping and banters fasten to
Eager sails of mutual rhythms vessel beaten by
heavy rain and wind howling? You
hastily yet calmly anchor on
the nearest shores’ inviting reefs
Where nested in grains of interests
Bottled up letters, Lying in wait
truthfully erupt in timeless silver
expressive words
Carefully crocheted
The most delicate sentence slivers
that easily evaporate between you
Vape them to determine their weight
inhale deeply to grasp their meaning
though
they are pale mists
to the eccentric language of our somas
generously playing synchronized notes
on the synaptic keys of our adjacent eyelines
Lines that have carefully outlined
Between us
a slender figure
co-designed in our reveling
Through the storm’s eye
from pumice and fresh embers
This gradient blue mirage
Keeps us warm and patient
Precautious but exploring
On the isle of our heart’s content