Paths

be sorry for the others

who

fidget

complain

who

constantly

rearrange their

lives

like

furniture.

juggling mates

and

attitudes

their

confusion is

constant

and it will

touch

whoever they

deal with.

beware of them:

one of their

key words is

"love."

Charles Bukowski - For The Foxes

There's a reason 

that there is a footpath

in and out of planes, leading all the way up my spine.

You wanted to be able to take part in miracles,

while mine were accounted for, 

many (blue) moons ago.

Ultimately, 

there's nothing more that takes me back 

to the tiny hairs on your shoulders

than when it's dark, 

when everything seems more enhanced. 

Drinks taste better in the dark, 

as does anything between a pair of legs, 

any pair of legs.

Add shadows to the walls and I belong there.

Consider me those crumpled up bed sheets 

between your body and the mattress.

Except these memories have decided to move

to the southern hemisphere of my brain

to a small village next to the sea 

where there are no phones.

Let it go just like I've let everything else go, 

let myself go,

like you let me go. 

Oil slipping through ducts of well-versed fingers 

and a mouth 

that was the only thing worth caving in on, 

in tiny rooms, in tiny beds, in cages,

in a city under a city. 

Our gravitational pull was never a coincidence, 

any more than it is coincidence 

that you are reading this. 

Old sweet nothings 

are ever since repeated to newcomers.

You probably deserve everything equally as ordinary 

as you are.

Mia Rincón