Remember the summer
we were obsessed with Burroughs?
Anything familiar like far off thunder
close enough to subdue mad-paced hours.
Something inciting, a strike of lightning
the scent of combustion ready to ignite
everything electric that made us come alive.
Our hearts caught between whale song and sigh
spontaneous thunder and intermittent quiet
sporadic as a summer storm.
Leonid Afremov “Rains Rustle”
In the shadows of a rundown bar
she breathes cigars and Cuba Libre.
A Spanish guitar plays Guananey
as she swallows the night
in a sunflower dress with no shoes.
She longs for her homeland
and the impossible dream of
” Havana ” Roman Virdi
Assemble a poem around me
paint me on your canvas
lift me up on whispers
released into your dreams
the embodiment of want
let me be the rhythm of
your beating heart.
art by Sarah Trefny