I lie in blissful stupor as a beautiful light
lets summer inside from the Heights.
I have shed all my energies and let
my passions overflow. Now my heart rate
settles down, calmness rises around me.
Today's lover floats through this
apartment of his, doing nothing really,
just gliding on the warm air breathing
through the sheer curtains.

From downstairs, from out on the sidewalk,
we hear music young men are playing, their
radio filtering up through the heat, a sultry
voice singing longingly over a salsa rhythm.
The song starts slowly but when a violin
sounds and women's voices drift in
my man says something about nostalgia,
opens the window a bit more,
and quietly sings along.
The sung Spanish sounds sensual, and I absorb
the feeling and watch him coyly dance,
swaying his hips, his hands swimming
in the liquid warmth.
I feel close to him and far away
at the same time, I breathe in his scent,
and a longing—deep and expressive—
rises from my own naked
quiet body. He smiles seriously
then withdraws once again
into reverie or memory
and becomes almost invisible in
the gaze and gauze of pulsing
euphoria. Without touching me
he touches me once again,
ending our short affair with a kiss.

I walk out, past the young men and
their music, and find my way through
the bright afternoon sunshine.
I am alive and awake and morning is breaking.

Accompaniment: Willie Colon, "Gitana," 1983

<      >