Pharaoh gazes at the intersection ahead. He looks down
at the crevices. Instead, hanging above a colossal precipice. A dead
end, he must turn back. Duty fulfilled as he turns in the sack.
To the left are the pigeons being fed. To the right is dulce chica de
sus revos in bed. Inside the pigeons flutter as the dulce melts his heart.
A pool of red flowing nowhere. Surviving on these streets. Bravas
patatas, iberica jamon. Only served the dulce pineapple by hermosa
camerera. A camera imprinting her smile. A rose bud opening belial.
Outside prodding and prying– her thorns– slowly crying. Right in every moment
are what he feels. If only the stars could align the reels. She’ll text him
but doesn’t want to see him. He continues on the empty streets until
the next intersection. The cross on his chest ripening her breast. Crossed– he stares
up at the blessed crest.
If this love’s not meant to be
If the heart’s not ready to open
If the naked eye won’t see
Its broken. -Late Night Alumni