For guitar piece No.1. “Sangria and Flamingo”
In the beginning there was the sky
wet with rain, the ground soft & tame,
the sea bowing to the shore, the sun quietly rising.
It’s not that he was looking, but he was.
The way she walked down the street
as if she knew the secrets of men,
as if all the tender things would die young.
It’s not that she was pretty, but she was.
I suppose looking back now,
anyone could fall in love
with black lace and red lips, flared skirts and high heels.
It wasn’t his first time but it was.
Some things always feel like a first
even at a hundredth time.
Take this song he’s singing:
he can’t ever sing it enough.
In the middle, there was a collision of lust.
The universe was whistling. All the stars were colluding.
The planets plotting to line up.
I suppose anyone could fall in love under this unscrupulous sky.
It’s not that she was trying to push him
away but she was.
Put one hand on his chest, and shoved –
But before all this falling,
no one could tell if she was pushing or pulling.
It goes like this forever:
She walks down the street
The rain sweeps in
The wind howls at her feet
All the doors flung open
He runs after her
She turns to him
only to find a deserted street.
In the end, there was a man and a woman.
One shadow assigned to each of them.
It was the day before, or the day after.
It’s all in the way she drank
to his music, the way she regarded shame
as if he knew the secret paths of her Universe.
As if he would slip away if she claimed him as hers.