Dear my happiness
in every desperation,
I’m lying over the desk resolute,
crushed
at the thought of getting
a realistic expectation from you,
and continuously pretending to feel
every person that walks to me.

Am I interesting only
when love isn’t fair?

Babe, did you
go for what you knew all at once?

I’m trembling warm wrapped
in thinking about my mistakes,
and what your wander-embrace
gave me in the first place.
These silly restless sins
sold the distance in my head.
Where are you now?
Did I become obsolete language?
Will passion start to count
and look to me numb?
Or everyone else
in a perfect-run change?

Dear my happiness
in every desperation,
this is no time
for the blind insecure
by a meaningless shadow.
Screaming rays
won’t ever set the same, and when
the hypnotizing flock of birds call,
your name can’t help but be as silent
as when the leaves cover a trail
blazing in and out the darkest fall.

All these mindful moments
come in angels
at the wake of both our eyes,
by the cycle of sophisticated days
that say one too many goodbyes,
when we begin anew by a town’s
morning bright, bright mercy.

Dear my happiness
in every desperation,
face to face,
I search for you between the walls
for six inches
to let me forget,
to let me fly,
to let me believe
there’s something here
amongst the Atacama fire and
its incurable rain.

 
© 2014 by Mario Gabriel Adame from the book After You, In Love Arrest