Chase the hills in Mexico,
followed the tones of your skin into shadows,
by the morning the sun was there
all eyes were open
and the beaches bartered eternity,
I reached for a tortilla.
The moss and mold hid, then fell apart
underneath
the eyes of the onward looking directors of Universe.
Afternoon cascaded down your legs
dribble dribble
and my head feels so good,
I smell the old plants,
let me eat the oranges in a still room,
god damn, I am an old man.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
novamartinpoetry.com 