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Wednesday, July 6, 2011


Like a tattoo forever on your flesh, connecting souls can leave the same mark. Each of us has our own way of remembering what our lives have blessed us with.

Strong characters are brought out by change of situation, and gentle ones by permanence. Jean Paul
Love is so short, forgetting is so long. Pablo Neruda

The Spanish Bee Keeper and Me

Yesterday we were crawling into a tent
under a blanket of heavy stars,
a dew soaked field and
the sounds of the night drumming
in our hearts, telling us
to pull each other closer,
to lock our breath,
to synchronize our heartbeats. In the heat,
me pretending he wasn't leaving,
he whispered that I was beautiful, and
my body is a map of my life. All in
a night we didn't want to end.

A kiss, an embrace and no promises--
only hopes and dreams and ink marks my
memories of the dusty Georgia road.
The wind of our motorcycle ride vibrating
another line of history across my flesh.
Our sensual dip in the sacred river of time,
a fire he started with a rock and a knife
to illuminate the beginning of our endless night.
I got a Spanish bee tattoo kissing my
shoulder. He is the only bee keeper
enduringly etched onto my heart.

The morning sun, the stolen night,
we said good-bye, but we meant
see you later on the island or
on the farm, or on the road.
I told him I’d miss him.
He told me he loved me.
Firmly planted
on his bike, he left the tattoo shop.
I watched him drive away with
one last kiss on my lips and
his angelic totem hovering over a red poppy.
Pain lingering on my artistic witness, I
felt a loss, a tenderness
I had forgotten I possessed all leaving
my heart sinking more than I imagined.
I ask, is anything permanent?
Nothing but besos y flores
spoken by a Spanish bee.

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