You play twenty-six and I’ll play twenty-two
A blur of estival lights haunt my peripheries
as I listen to words that so often fall away
and the madness of a Cuban night detains us.

That girl in the little black dress
and that boy with the Chevy truck,
it’s a story so quintessential to an age of degenerates
that is has become the classic modern fairy tale.

This never-ending conversation that runs in mind
is one between you and me
for the mind wanders, but resistance to infidelity
is what separates man from beast.

Summer rain monsoons over my paper heart
and a whirlwind of salt water runs through my hair,
that’s when I recollect in the quiet of darkness,
when I looked into those beautiful green eyes and said:
“maybe someday”.

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