She Reminds Me of Music and Shattered Masses

The Kiss ('Der Kuss'). Gustav Klimt (1862-1918). oil, silver and gold on canvas, 1907-1908. 180 cm x 189 cm.

The Kiss (‘Der Kuss’). Gustav Klimt

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She reminds me of music
and shattered masses.

Awkward dances,
broken glasses.

Trembling temptation,
my salvation.

Edges of beds,
muffled left unsaids.

Quivering blue hips,
red bitten lips.

Smiling depression,
a choking expression.

Long, two-stop metros,
mistaken identity Estrechos.

Nightly Cuban cigars,
Dancing gay uncles in Chuecan bars.

Plaza Mayor ornaments of shit,
Sol, holiday season and lit.

Christless Christmases,
Christmas Eve Mistresses.

Star Spangled hums,
encantado mums.

Mouthfuls of grapes,
back bedroom escapes.

Blinking clocks,
wet, smelly socks.

Warm winter leggings,
brown shoe fadings.

Avenidas walks,
ski stores on long blocks.

Catching lightning in a glass,
Playful sarcasm laced with sass.

Goya, Velázquez, Bosch
angulas in olive oil sauce.

Cigarette puffs,
my tantrum like huffs.

My goal, my gone, my grieve,
weeping child on my sleeve.

Invisible shoulder tattoos,
My rhythmless, bottomless blues.

My future, my present, my past,
My period, my end, my last.

My utter and complete,
She is the stutter of my defeat.


11 thoughts on “She Reminds Me of Music and Shattered Masses

  1. I haven’t been by for a few weeks! I’m so glad you took a quick trip over to my blog, too. I’m so pleased to see you writing. This poem is provocative and exotic, not to mention, a little bit devastation in tight blue pants. The first line really draws you in.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I guess I got lucky with the line. When I think of her, I think of those things. It was an easy and natural claim to make. I’m glad you can see it the way I can. My mother, for instance, might have said “what does that mean?” I’m glad you didn’t. But what about “devastation in tight blue pants?”

      Liked by 1 person

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