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.