Tempera on Paper
40″H x 26″W
Private Collection
No one understood the fragrance
of the dark magnolia of your womb.
No one knew you tortured
a hummingbid of love between your teeth.
A thousand persian ponies slept
in the moonlit plaza of your forehead,
while through four nights I snared
your waist, the enemy of snow.
Between plaster and jasmines, your glance
was a pale branch of seeds.
I searched my breast to give you
the ivory letters that spell always,
always, always: garden of my ache,
your body elusive always,
blood of your veins in my mouth,
your mouth already lightless for my death.
–Federico Garcia Lorca