Cosas Part II

a half-marathon holding hands,

a stolen kiss

as bikram ended,

a ride to nirvana

on I-75,

we were present,

our love

fresh,

alive,

as we sat on the balcony,

and listened to zouk,

fish and batata,

cilantro,

we cooked.

Lingerie

in black

turquoise

and lace,

brown-skin,

dark lips,

your hands,

my heart-shaped

face.

Foreign films

and the Moth,

barefoot me,

and

African

cloth.

Sundays wrapped

in rockers lyrics,

cosas upon cosas

that have now just drifted,

away.

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