Wet Poems in the Dark

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Wet Poems in the Dark

The wind sings lonely
moonlit breezes tonight.
Oceanic echoes from places I've yet to see
travel through my window
softening my skin with salted kisses.
 
A'l Cuco no le gusta
que lo llamen
El Cuco.
When feeding him morsels of your heart,
Shake roses over his head
perfume his inhalations
with your soul.
 
Whatever u do,
no lo llame
por su propio nombre.
El prefiere
"Mi Amor".
 
Everyday, Sir.
Everyday.
I am patience.
I am love.
I am poetry.
These fruits of the Spirit are gifts
I lay at your careless feet.
 
Even children know
not to take candy
from hands that slap.
Still, they do,
despite crushing fear,
in their gut
these sweets are bitter.
 
Lullabies crooned
through throats that bellow
fall hollow on raked ears.
Stained glass,
I am.
Onion skin
membrane stretched.
Held up translucent
To the light
I do not hide my truths.
 
You can
see through me.
If it is too real
for your eyes,
too stark
for your palate,
You Sir,
do not
deserve me.
 
That I temper my words
with gentility
is a reflection
of what I've sculpted
in time.
Smell agony
between the lines,
dear reader.
 
We have become nothing more,
than the sound of animals
fighting in the rain.
Slipping on memories,
shredding ourselves against reality

© Jani Rose. Published by permission in Centro Voices on 10 April 2015.

Centro Voices (ISSN: 2379-3864).
The views expressed here are those of the author and not necessarily those of Centro Voices, the Center for Puerto Rican Studies or Hunter College, CUNY.