THERE'LL NEVER BE ANOTHER LIKE YOU

 Of all the possible fruits
you nest in my hands
molded by the body weight of your sumptuous shape.
Blush, perfume and combination of flavors,
short word extended in the memory.
Sweet drop pinned at the end of a cane:
the feminine cavity of your seed
now doubles with a hack my expectations.
Your flesh slowly gives itself
in the sugary anesthesia
of a baby snake biting my tongue.
By taking you, you have left
a basket full of broken promises,
withered possibilities, fragrances now useless.

Roberto Mendoza-Ayala
03/29/2014