The lemon-wedged moon
rims the sky like a garnish
over the magic city’s skyline.
Under her cold, dark
hallucinogenic trail of light,
long as the neck of a beer bottle,
she chases us down the boardwalk
like salt and lime
after a shot of tequila.
We dance in circles as
her beams swerve towards us
like a fat, worm
sucking on our youthful nectar.
When she’s full, a pulsating
white goddess,
I bleed from the vessel
that was fruitful
in her obscurity.
As the bright, planetary orb
shines down on me,
an all-seeing eye,
I mourn the life
that wasn’t born.
But, I am not afraid.
I was born for this darkness.
I remember my
connection to
this globe of life
every night, in circles
dark to light.
© 2014 Monica Torres
Miami Chronicles 