Today I thought of you while running Your grandmother taught you Spanish The first time we slept together Today I thought of you while watching If I dug up the remains of our love affair
"Dejé mi amor en Santo Domingo" por M.K. (via synthetic-synaesthesia)
down the crooked streets of Santo Domingo
and listening to tourists bicker in
broken Spanish, I thought of the curve of your
spine and of the way you always folded
your pajamas underneath your pillow so that
after sex you could cover your body
before asking me to leave.
when you were a boy, taught you how to say
te amo but never how to ask another person
to hold your heart in the palms of their
hands without breaking it.
you whispered Neruda’s poetry against
the flesh that hung from my collarbones
as if the words of a dead poet
could make sex mean something.
Did you hear that they dug up his body? tore
his soul from the earth and separated white
bones from red dirt, as if searching for
one last poem in the decay of his skeleton.
a man offer his husband a bouquet of daisies
with the promise of te amo and I
wonder if you ever meant those words
or if they were just a way of making sense
of the broken world we live in.
from the back of my closet where a box marked
with your name resides, would I find we
died of natural causes,
or evidence that something
else - fate, or poison maybe - was at play?
Today I thought of you while running
Your grandmother taught you Spanish
The first time we slept together
Today I thought of you while watching
If I dug up the remains of our love affair