Black Flower

I still feel the fragrance
   of your black hirsute flower,
      scent that stubbornly sprouts deep into myself
              throwing me in to the garden of your memory,
                    into the whirlwind of my spasm.


The inside of your thigh, relaxed and silky,
          still caresses the tip of my fingers.
Legs asking for a hug,
    an eternal kiss,
         central and accurate,
                wet promise of tremulous
                      and heavenly seizures.


... And in the distance, your mouths chaining
their taste to my tongue ...


Jose Luis Mendoza Aubert

Spanish version in Radiosmart

http://listenradiosmart.blogspot.com/