An Andalusian Song

It was cooler on the veranda, below us, a Spanish guitar translated twilight words. Orchids unrolled their purple tongues for the moon to drink upon. We had quarreled earlier, now I lowered my head in your lap. Somewhere, a girl was singing an old Andalusian song about the sea; the way the sea cries for the kiss of the shore, how the sand runs to be drowned - an overly romantic melody yet it brought us closer. You stood and lifted your red dress, your raven-haired triangle held the scent of mercy. Later, sangria washed salt from our lips.