Confusing Sex with Love
This is how it was. She was eight feet tall if she was an inch, legs
like Christmas-hams, breasts like windmills, like volcanoes, tectonic
catastrophes. She burned up villages and swallowed roads.She took my hand and said, I’m going to show you everything.We went among the barns. It was the solstice and the night was minutes
long. And hot—the chickens were dropping fried eggs in their coops,
the horses sweating glue. One of those nights the moon leaves you
sunburned.We made something like love, but without the story. Friction like trains
derailing, like a horde of locusts. There was no letting go. The howling
we made woke up Moses himself and he said, Part!Only that one word could have done it. Her eyes were galactic spotlights.
Steam pouring out of her mouth and hands. Ignitions in the atmosphere,
the seas vaporizing. Birds cawing and falling around us.I held on to the last palm tree, a flap of skin like a flag in the wind,
signaling I surrender.
Copyright © 2018 by Julio Machado
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission
Julio Machado is a Cuban American poet, writing and teaching in Miami. He received his undergraduate degree in History and Literature from Harvard University, and completed an MFA at Florida International University. His work has most recently appeared in the Kenyon Review, Threepenny Review, and Water Stone Review.
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