Last
The tongue slips
over the grayish-blue
edge
of a Catalonian knife.
Salt.
Tambours bang.
Me or him.
The dark dance starts.
A step
… a jump.
The night –
an award for death.
A red dress –
survival.
Curse eternal –
Carmen.
Corrida – ever.
The knife stabs in the back
and the crowd cries
'More!'.
Breath, breath – the edge
squeals…
*‘Ultimo! (Spanish)
Copyright © Bozhidar Pangelov | Year Posted 2013
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