Part 38 

I knew of Alexa through our mutual friend Marta Lorenzo, they had gone to Miami Beach High all four years. Marta always with her dinner parties trying to play match maker. 

I had chatted with Alexa in one of these gatherings. Immediately I recognized her in the pictures that Lazaro couldn't bare to see, I knew who she was. 

I might have over reacted by reaching out to her but I've been in this city for almost forty years and knowing what I knew and how lost Lazaro was, I couldn't just sit on my hands.

I asked Marta for Alexa's phone number under the guise that I wanted to get to know her.

All the while what I was doing, was putting her on notice that she had been caught tying Lazaro's wife. 

As sensationalized as the wild cocaine days of Miami, the Versace murder and our face eating cannibals might be, if you looked closely you would see the most prevalent underreported crime, so much so that no one bats an eye when it happens. Murder suicide is as old as passion itself. 

I invited Alexa to Smith and Wollensky on South Point Park for coffee but when she got there I already had Macallan melting the ice. 

Reader, in the beginning of this Pulitzer worthy quest of mine I had latched on to the likes of Mario and company but this that is happening of late is Freud couch shit. 

I now have Lazaro confiding his and his wife's and their lover's trysts to me and it has made me uncomfortable, guilty and horny. 

To be continued. 

No se hablar

Nací para tenerte, lo demás es lo demás. 

A primera vista supe que te tendría. Me desinterese de ti y tu porqué, me dediqué a ignorarte. 

Te convertí en una obsesión a la cual con delicadeza y maña haría mía. 

Desvíe mi vista y malamente escuche los cuentos que contabas.  

A mi solo me importaba la saliva de tu boca y el rozar de tu labios con los secos míos. 

Entable un tema contigo sin propósito más que seducirte violentamente. 

Sin que te dieras cuenta te ahorcaría en el abrazo de mis brazos hundiéndote en mí.  

Me puse para ti muchacha, y tu te dedicaste a jugar el juego que se pierde a propósito. 

Si no te lo e dicho todo es porque no se hablar.... 

Cessna

Part 37 

She had no clue, why would she suspect that destiny had the death card under her sleeve and would play it. She after all felt entitled to happiness. 

Newlyweds shouldn't part from each other for extended periods of time. Fresh happiness is at times devoured by the thirst of others. 

He had logged many hours, but he hadn't flown solo this far. 

This nondescript dirt road in El Departamento de Nariño, en la Selva Colombiana, that doubled as cocaine runway was far as hell from the arms of his freshly minted bride. 

He was excited to prove his wings, after all he was now head of the household. 

Silver with red and blue pinstripes, twin prop Cessna 421, it got as much local coverage as the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa. 

It's was on the news from Halloween to the New Year's, but to no avail the airplane and its novice captain vanished. 

In Amelia Earhart's backyard he reincarnated in local folklore. 

"The kid with wings and the silver bullet never to be seen again."

How could destiny rob her of him. Was she destined to be alone. 

These sad stories she told me in an attempt to justify her rope tricks.

I'm not buying her agony, maybe she was into girls from day one and on day two she decided that they where prettier tied up. 

To be continued. 

Chalet

I'll put myself up in a chalet, in a foreign land, where my tongue will be a foreign tongue. 

I'll lock myself up with a great vintage and produce a great novel. 

I'll be kept by my desire and she will be my muse. 

I won't see the sun nor the moon, only the light from her eyes and the fire from her loins. 

I'll fill my novel with words that will render every bite into legible desire. 

I'll close my eyes and trace her body with my writing hand so I can write her curves into my pages. 

I'll love her and the pages will show. 

Azul

Se llama, todas las huellas de mi mano acariciando su cuerpo, yo la llamo mía, y ella me llama carne.

Rastreando mis letras encontró su nuevo tatuaje, al instante eche mi corazón al fuego, y estrené uno nuevo. 

La seduje hasta cobrarle el azul de sus venas, y el rojo de sus labios. 

Calle mis palpitaciones al escuchar su lengua foránea y doblegue mis dedos a surcar sus costillas. 

Ella seguía murmurando en su jerigonza mientras yo clavaba mis espuelas en su porvenir. 

Me miró con cara de terremoto y yo la salude con hambre de hembra. 

Se despidió de mi con su lengua entre mis labios, y yo le dije adiós, con un suspiro de nunca más. 

El que no se muere

Anoche entre en conciencia, en la conciencia que tendré a los ciento cincuenta años.  

La primera emoción que sentí en este encuentro fue un golfo de angustia en mi pecho. 

Me vi robusto pero angustiado, todos los míos ya se habían marchado. 

Los nacidos en la vida eterna me esperaban desde hacía tiempo y yo seguía trajinando en los entornos que me llaman viejo pero no me dicen adiós. 

Desde hacía por lo menos sesenta años aventuraba peligrosidad para propiciar mi descenso, pero sin suerte aquí todavía estaba. 

Que sensación más terrible esta de no poder unirme a los míos. 

Tal como si fuera un tren en la estación a punto de marcharse, los míos en el más allá me hacían señal de que me apurara pero yo aquí anclado estaba. 

Yo era el último vestigio de esta época familiar. 

Que por sino lo sabes, los clanes duran entré doscientos a doscientos veinticinco años. Nuestra memoria colectiva es prueba de eso. 

Ya todo perdía sabor la ansiedad de cruzar le robaba la sal al aire. 

El tiempo se olvido de mi y me dejo bagando en este purgatorio de penitencia. 

Me veía perdido, lo que fue mi pradera en primavera se convirtió en mi prisión.  

El que no se muere. 

Silencio

Mientras yo reciclo poemas de escaramuzas pasadas temiendo delatar el escondite de mi corazón. 

En la oscuridad de mi tintero danzan mis emociones esperando caricias de mi bolígrafo.

Ellas codician luz y yo preño el papel de silencio. 

Dime que te diga del viento que envenenó mi alma a callar. 

Pídeme que grité del grillete que me ata a este detén. 

Te responderé con mentiras. Te engañaré con una mirada perdida. 

Violare mi integridad pero no entregaré mi corazón. 

Volaré callado y no posaré en la rama del hablar. 

Todo lo e dicho, ya no escribo nada nuevo...

Tira a tira

No tengo letras que acaparen mi carapacho, quedé colgado. 

Se fue la furia que besaba, con mi último beso. 

Quede cuadrado a media cuadra y sin adiós. 

Tiemblo de rabia por no haber cuadriculado su pellejo cuando mis uñas sembraban mi apellido en su pelo. 

Visto el vestido de bastardo, el que le otorgan a los que tarde llegan a sufrir lo que merecen. 

No, no me pesa haber sido, lo que me pesa es no haber seguido. 

No fue ella, fui yo el que se fugó. 

Cobren la cobardía que padezco. 

Tira a tira sáquenme de mi, haberla mirado con ojos tiernos. 

Derrítanme ante la estatua de su adiós... 

From Bronze to Gold

Part 34

 

A few more thrusts and a change of scenery is a must, to accommodate this mission to Mars. 

She lands on her feet, grabs my left hand and leads me up the narrow wood staircase. Without turning her head, she leads and I follow. 

Her hair swings from side to side as her swaying hips climb. My eyes transfixed on the small of her back, as my evil intentions yearn to pierce her through and through.

Landing on the bed face down, her body is the only thing visible in the room. Mounting her as my eyes roll back and the horns protrude, I growl as the muscles on my face flex the heathen in me. 

I grab a fistful of her mane as I ride her with abandon. Our bodies melt into one as the bed bounces on the wood floor and shimmies across the room. 

She begins to loose control. 

Her breathing races, her body jolts underneath mine. Her spasms become quicker and quicker. 

Gnarling like a possessed beast I pull her hair tighter and afford her the control she has lost. 

She shatters into a million shards as the moon glows on her face. 

Aware that it's time to crest over this moon I position myself into a rhythmic groove and speed up so that the friction catches up to the delirious thoughts that swim in the shallow pool of my thoughts. 

She is heaving and I'm going from bronze to gold as the sweat pours down my face and lands on the back of her neck. 

I stop all and descend from the high her flesh has given me and surrender my hips to squeeze the life out of me. 

I lay dead.

To be continued. 

Part 33 Muffled Screams

Part 33 

I drove north through the afternoon rain in my new red 911 and drowned Lazaro with my background noise playlist. 

The music, the revving of the engine and the heated pictures had me climbing walls. 

Anais lives in Davie, the drive was a forty-five minute prelude to a feast. 

As usual I got confused with her address and parked on the wrong block. Maybe it was my horniness that blocked the numerical sequence from my mind. 

I thought all brown doors in this complex had thirsty lips waiting on the other side for me to knock. 

She was used to my unaware state of mind and loved my awareness of her. 

Knocking on her door and slipping into the rabbits hole as Sadee seduced the air, no words exchanged. Our greetings were always mouth to mouth. 

Coffee waiting on the counter spiked with Tito's minus the cream. 

Sadee the only voice being heard, in silence I took a sip of coffee and stripped her naked. 

Admiring prey before the vanquish is the epitome of a hunter and her neck was thirsting for me. 

Seeing her bare, seeing her how she couldn't see herself, engorged me. 

Kicking my loafers off and placing them with deliberate patience under the cream kitchen counter, as she exhibited her vulnerability, made me erect from head to toe. 

Ted Baker belt off, and Calvins draped on her dining room table, shirt flung as claim to the territory before me, I tugged on her scarlet and exposed her freckles as I readied for the ride. 

Made myself aware to her flesh as I sunk my lips on the the nape of her neck. 

Her hesitant breathing was a welcome salvo to my stab of her constitution and so I penetrated her flesh. 

Crouching and grabbing on to the ball of her hips with intentions of shattering it, I thrust into her every desire I've inherited. I steered this steer at her, and the kitchen counter held. 

Standing straight as the stabbing continued, her feet now hovered six inches from the ground. Muffled screams escaped her as she bit into my fingers. 

To be continued. 

Gotas de sangre y buches de hiel

El dolor que duele, huele a ella. Las lágrimas que barnizan mis mejillas saben a su último beso. 

Perdí lo que no aposté en el juego,  y hoy hago de tripas corazón. 

El desamor entró por la puerta y pisoteó mi corazón en polvo. La leña dejó de arder y la hoguera se rindió.  

Derrame gotas de sangre y me trague buches de hiel, pero sigo borracho con su olor. 

Si despierto destrípenme para que desaparezca de mi el dolor de su ausencia. 

Cáusenme a cruzar eternidades en el abandono de su abandonó. 

Que me duela la herida abierta por su adiós...

Un Restriego Dos Restriegos

Los ríos corren y no saben de qué, tienen nombre y no conocen las lágrimas que los brotaron. 

Yo cabe una cueva y me dedique a llorar. 

Era tanto el bien que me hacía este ejercicio de estrujar, que se fue de mí la sal. 

Se fue de mi todo menos el olvido y su olor. 

Desde ese entonces le di cierre a mi alma y regale mi pellejo. 

Me marcaron huellas sin olor pero yo no les honre con un té quiero. 

Un restriego, dos restriegos y la soledad....

Part 31 Sex In My City

"We spent all the gold in King Solomon's mines on private club memberships and rope tying lessons at after dinner parties, held by the blue blood Cubans that jog the Biltmore golf course."

"Lizards that howl during the day and slither when the moon crests." 

"Poet all was done to appease the drudgery that drown marriages."

"It was our stab in the eye of statistics."

"It was us detesting the river that drown swimmers that end up on opposite banks."

"Poet as filthy as the ceiling fan I hung her from was, and as hot as the candle wax I oozed, drop after drop on her pink nipples might have been, it was all in the name of love."

"She was prey and I preyed on her flesh. Poet we role played our lips purple. And the storm troopers of infatuated lovers tried to breach us to no avail."

"Yet she let herself be hunted when I was her only hunter."

"Poet I'm sunk, there is no bottom for me."

"Lazaro everyone pays dues to be in love, the heart is meant to be broken."

"Poet she is the Lourdes girl this Miami Coral Park kid plucked from the night sky at sixteen and married at twenty."

"She is the only woman I've known."

"While we tricked she became a turncoat and swore her allegiance to a new guy who tied her and fucked her."

"The images poet they rob me of my sleep."  

"Images, what images Lazaro?"

To be continued. 

Part 30 Sex In My City

As full disclosure goes Lazaro thought I was a New York Times best selling author. I must have impressed him with the air I carried myself with. 

He taunted me with his story and I bitch slapped him with my novel. 

As he melted to the floor I forced his gaze up at me with deliverance. 

The gospel I delivered to him churned in his skull for what seemed to be an eternity. "Don't be such a cunt dude."

While I had his attention I drilled into him this wisdom. 

"Hey Fucker, if someone shows you their true colors weave them a flag and fly it in honor of your freedom, fuck the rest."

Stern words but this guy was on the edge and I was hell bent on rescuing him. 

I've never been able to deliver my messages subtlety, if I speak to you, you will know you've been spoken to.

His blank stare sheepishly began to recite syllables and consonants that dead ended in me figuring out this was Pulitzer worthy. 

Knowing that my superpower was listening, I went into the phone booth and came out Pen in Hand.

Stroking the ego of a helpless victim is the only way to extricate the venom from their veins and ink it onto my pages.  

This guy crossed me with his bullshit and I would curse him into my scripture. 

"Poet our relationship got stale and we began to skate on the thin parts of the ice."

Strip clubs turned into strippers and strippers turned into friends. 

That cold shoulder got old so we adopted a girlfriend and the lifestyle grew. 

Then we found rope and the headboard held. 

To be continued. 

Part 29 Sex In My City

Did I have the words confessor or culprit written on my forehead?

"If Hell has a price I'll pay for it. I'll kill the bitch!" Lazaro gutturally spit these words into the air. 

My pupils dilated as I stared into the north. What the fuck was this?

I barely knew Lazaro. 

He was the agent Claudia my photographer friend had introduced me to when we collaborated on my first poemario. 

Lazaro wasn't familiar to me this way, I was in an awkward impasse.

Nonetheless the empathy in me proved to be stronger than my logic. 

"What's the matter my friend, what blade have you been cut by?" I regrettably asked. 

He was sobbing uncontrollably, this was a disheveled man. 

I broke my fixed gaze to the north and walked over to him. 

Placing my right hand on his slumped shoulder, I shook him back to reality and got him to look at my face. 

His clenched jaw broke free only to deliver the message his turmoil released. 

"Poet, I can't get the images of her bound body out of my mind."

"Poet, we met in junior high. I was her dance partner at her quinceañera. She was my sweetheart since before I became a man."

"We have five kids and what I thought was a solid marriage and now I find her in this sordid affair."

"The woman I knew as my forever rib is now gone and in her absence lives a sexual deviant."

This guy had been drinking my Mario kool-Aid. He had read the manuscript that would enshrine me in Pulitzer history and that must have given him the courage to vent. 

I was now asking myself: Is he venting or crying out for attention?

Did he in a twisted Machiavellian way think that exposing his wife this way in my novel would purge the agony from his heart?

To be continued. 

Part 28

"Poet as soon as you land come to my office." This was the last text I received before switching my phone to airplane mode. 

Lazaro was my literary agent. I couldn't sleep on the plane on account of the excitement. A new offer from a publishing house or maybe someone wanted to buy the movie rights to one of my books.

I couldn't sleep a wink, the adrenaline kept me bouncing in my window seat. 

Groggy I landed in MIA, and as soon as the word "aceré" hit my inner ear I knew this cubanito was home.

Strutting down to baggage claim I remembered that Miami had no Über service at the airport and resolved to be the GQ on cue at the taxi stand.

Frantz was my cabbie, his creole made me feel at home. "Where to messier" he exclaimed as I switched airplane mode off. 

"Come ta le vous?" I asked in an attempt to humanize our economic exchange. And in his thirty two teeth smile he replied, "se viens monsieur."

Si mi amigo, yo estoy campana. 

"Take me to Coral Coral Way and Ponce de León."

Hillstones was refuge and Ruby was the bartender that would steer me straight. She brings a smilie to this worldly bar fly. Her dark cropped hair and my distain for formality would figure me out. 

Dropped off halfway up the block, Los Locos from the valet service remembered which way to turn me, I was in their care. 

Walked into Hillstones from an eight hour flight, had two Macallans and walked down the block past my favorite Starbucks, made a left at Bulla and elevator up. 

Lazaro had summoned me, and my constitution broke into the penthouse with an eight hour flight, two drink in me, kind of smirk. 

"Hey dude what's the drama about" I sarcastically delivered. And he shut down on me suicide way.

Then I knew we were fucked. 

The view from his conference room at 2525 Ponce De Leon owned the north as far as the eye could see. 

I stared out this curtain of glass in an attempt to drown the awkwardness in the air. 

He began to wail uncontrollably, I had no hiding place. His dread imprisoned me into inquiring. 

"What's wrong my friend?"

By now he had sunk his face into the palm of his hands and all I could see, was this emasculated creature in pain. 

To be continued. 

Part 27

There are rooms that wait for us to inhabit them with the restlessness of our soul. 

Morning broke and the unfamiliarity of the room provoked a deep sigh of reflection. 

Still wrapped in a cocoon of silk, I looked around the room for a familiar sign. 

Where was I? 

What had I been involved in? 

Then as effervescent as a bubbling brook, the bubbles of the night broke through the veil. 

I was naked to the truth. There was no reconciling with the animal that lived under my fingernails. 

I had mortgaged my salvation at the site of flesh. 

Springing from the bed I landed firmly on the cold floor, sending an unsavory chill up my spine. 

Walked into the bathroom and stared into the mirror as if my reflection had answers.

Take note reader for the previous nights sexual tryst I would give up ten years of my life and three digits from my left hand. 

Yet as sensually gratifying as it was, I recognized a new stripe on this tiger. 

I had gone to Barcelona to be with Carolina and shit had gone sideways on me. 

She had gotten used to treating me like a second class citizen. 

Sex yes, plenty of it. But love wasn't sitting at the table and I was starving. 

I found myself craving the kind of distance from this truth, that only Miami could afford. 

Back to Miami, back to Mario and the cast of characters of my Pulitzer life.

To be continued. 

 

Part 26

She left Pulitzer medals on my nightstand and all I did was buckle her into the über ride....... 

Sex isn't sex, sex is hunger feeding on itself. 

The bark of the hanging tree tattooed on her torso signified that thrust after thrust Olivia and I were feasting on each other's foreign flesh. 

I let go of the ebony knot that furled my grasp and moved down her chiseled shoulders, sinking ten digits into her collar. 

Olivia was the obstacle, I intended to obliterate into the hardwood. 

I trusted every thrust to deliver shivers down her spine and timber straight through and through, I was pine. 

My mouth was free and her naked neck screamed for a fresh bite. 

Snarling guttural beast exhales, I broke her delicate skin with my canines and blood gushed. 

Disappearing into the salt of her blood, I closed my eyes and sunk my pearls, so that my lips would suck on her. 

Blood sweat and sex I swallowed as my victim became over and over. 

Rustling leaves brought me back from the abyss. 

Odalys was spread eagle on the nest I had prepared and her fingers dared me to cross the border without permission. 

Parting from Olivia was sour yet Odalys smelled of mixed perfume and beaconed me to straddle her. 

I ran my left hand on her forehead to clear her dark hair away from her burnt wood eyes so that we would be enchanted by the depth of our sin. 

Clearing her hair with one stroke and burying my right hand under her right ass cheek for position was why I was made man. 

Her eyes swallowed two seas and three storms as she gazed at me in my enthusiasm. 

In a panic she stole herself from the eclipse and started to feel around for the gushing that escaped her. 

This beast of a woman hadn't had heaven and earth meet on her body before. 

She had questions and I was drunk on the answers her womanhood was delivering. 

Olivia's naked body tied to the tree. 

Odalys naked body beneath me. 

Our carnal desire. 

Noise in the distance crept up while I buried my hunger into Odalys and subjected Olivia to watch. 

What had been the face of eroticism a few seconds before now had been tinged by desperation. 

Olivia's nakedness was adorned by her vulnerability. Her submissive role in this threesome would now reveal the real tiger. 

The noise grew closer. It was a group of expired partiers drumming their feet closer and closer, while our sacrificial maiden fretted at the stake. 

She thrashed her arms in a panic, her eyes bulging as desperation grew. 

In the unspoken language of calamity Olivia spoke to my readiness as I sprung into action releasing her into my arms and laying her next to Odalys. 

The silence of the night bathes us in its quiet as the moon seized to exist. 

To be continued. 

Part 25

Writing a play by play depiction of the scene as it plays out is the challenge that Pulitzers are awarded for. 

Odalys kicked of her cork wedges and did the happy dance struggle to get out of her jeans. 

My struggle was staying in the moment, the little boy in me was doing cartwheels inside my head. 

The poor street light made its way on to our flesh, bright enough to sneak a peak at our hedonism. 

She threw her jeans on the ground and kept her pink lace panties. 

I shoved the little boy aside and the man in me sprung into action. I raked the ground with my shoes as a bull readies the soft soil for assault. 

Take note reader "there are no victims, only volunteers."

Odalys went to the hanging tree to torment Olivia with her mouth. 

If I can't take it off in three seconds, I don't need it. I ripped my shirt open, buttons flew into the darkness. 

I busied myself reading the nest with my pants and my shirt, the floor would receive the flesh in style. 

I turned to the tree and saw a vision that caused me to pause and drown in the moment. 

Olivia was piercing the silent night with her moaning as Odalys buried her face in the folds.

Screams of delirium broke the quiet leafs into a rustle. 

Olivia was propped up on the hanging tree, her ass protruding the silhouette cast by the moon. 

Her baby blue panties rested on the six inch stilettos that adorned her ankles. Her strapless bra rested on her belly mid clasp. 

She lived moment by moment tied and tethered to her submissiveness. While demon woman feasted on her sovereignty. 

I watched, painted in the patience that perfumed this upright heathen midday in Carolina's pad. 

Strange thoughts cross your mind as shit like this crosses your cross. 

Was this the kind of situation that gave Mario the freedom to think that I was a scoundrel. 

Fuck Mario. 

Windshield wipers in my vision quest wiped that shit out of my thought process, cheap whore quick. 

Odalys caught me looking and smirked, she was eating my lunch and was enjoying the anchovies, while I starved from a distance. 

Dared to be, I became. Leaving for the tree in my golden nakedness if only to wrestle Odalys from her foraging. 

Mid stroke of her tongue into Olivia I bit her lower lip and quenched my thirst with the salt of her blood. And made my presence felt. 

While Odalys foraged on Olivia's loins I became the lion and tore her pink panties to shreds. I stabbed my dared existence into the underbelly of dominance itself. 

Three tango as the moon shines, and I roar. 

Thrusting into Odalys, hell bent on crushing her pelvis, the leaves on the tree tussled as the branches enjoyed the show. 

This was a death match, I had been slow to catch on but someone would die or be left behind. 

Kissing Odalys' neck while intending to tattoo the dimples on the small of her back with my pelvis thrust after thrust, kept me from Olivia. 

Odalys was enjoying being the obstacle and I ran short on patience, with one thrust I shoved her left and the right of passage was mine.

Olivia dripped to the point of embarrassment, I caught wind of that as I inhaled the thirst from her lips.

Kissing Olivia while resolving to have Odalys suffocate on mine gave me freedom to roam Olivia's heaving breast. 

Then famine for one and the spoils of war for the other, I circled my wagons and let Olivia catch fire and burn to the ground. 

To be continued.