Last Call

Resting on the pavement –
A cigarette and enough time
to look at a star up high,
the brightest;
a radiant fireball dripping splendor,
an omen.

Perhaps I should go into this bar…
This binge started at some other bar, I’m sure.

I’m spinning on the bar stool, nauseous,
looking around.

Two wine glasses dreaming of eternity;
a couple of tequila shots living carpe diem;
twin beer pints promising never to tell;
and, amid the racket, my tears.

The star’s a pale complexion with vivacious features,
with pronounced charms and grace,
and with a stare,
a stare that could divert Cupid’s arrow

She gets up – supple waist –
And comes my way.
A swarm of pelicans take flight inside of me.
She stands before me.
Venus holds my hand,
opens her mouth…
Nothing comes out and I understand it all.


Salud Wine Poetry
It was a calm night, like almost every night,
nothing was going on,
literally nothing.

I was just lying there, on my side,
then she came in.

She came in with a rush.
I could see that she had had a long day.
She threw her bag on the bed
(the bed was not made).

She looked at me,
then lit a cigarette.
She looked at me again,
then dragged her chair to the window.

She had nice legs.

She grabbed me by the throat and kissed me,
not just any kiss, she like kissed me kissed me –
Boy, what a kiss!

I felt myself turning upside down.
I was all over her lips.
I poured myself into her,
between her teeth, under her tongue,
until she stopped,
for a moment at most,
then we kissed again.

I was staring at her almost dizzily.
She had her head in her hands,
elbows on her knees…

I never answered her questions –
I don’t know if I ever did.
She never said anything when she came back,
but I was sure she was mine.
Yet again, what do I know?
I’m just a vintage bottle of wine.