The Reflection Of Rhythms Lost

Sometimes I dig for it.
The lost fragment of my hips,
The way they swayed in front of your lips.
Now lost among the shredded portrait of our kiss.

I shove my fingertips into the night,
looking among the velvet moon and starlight
Between his long legs, underneath her tongue's site
Hoping to taste that bittersweet comfort of pain and flight.

To savor the honesty in the style I loved you,
the silent mockery of poetic words desperately glued
to confused pupils as your green eyes unconsciously threw
those words of commitment under sly smiles and hidden hands
tracing my tattoos.

But sometimes I find it.
After a couple of beers and a sip of smoke.
Do you remember the rhythm those humid nights provoked?
They infected my brain with wanderlust and when time chokes
on whatever logic a perfect second shouts at the unawareness
of a lover's hope.

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