Vacíos calles, La luna


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


3 thoughts on “Vacíos calles, La luna

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