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.
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