a poem - Bitch

I am the one
whose beautiful smile
could not conquer your heart
and whose black hands
failed to scratch your skin.

I am the one
who in silent anger
proclaimed you:

Whore!

My profaned muse
let the red wine unite us in eternal lust
and lead our hopeless souls
to a painful ecstasy.

You, my purple desire,
with your bruised lips
lick my tears and tired body.
 and by the end of the day
with your disgraced hands
bless me.
                                                           Carlos Lopez, November 2012.

The bracelet. 2001. ©Carlos Lopez